The Arrangement
by FrenchieLeigh
Summary: A cheerful groom, a reluctant bride, and a secret that threatened to kill them both. Okita/OC, Saitou/Tokio AU: Modern Day
1. The Duty of a Son

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Author's Note: **Welcome! I'm having so much fun with Okita & Co in _Changes in Friendship_, that I thought, I just have to use them again (even if I am far from done over there). For any of my readers coming over from the Bakumatsu, please leave your swords at the door and take a seat by the stereo.

I'm about to shake things up.

**The Arrangement - 01**

Pressing his back against the glass door that had just closed behind him, Okita Soushi exhaled slowly. Within an instant, his bags and coat were whisked away from him by the servants, presumably to be set in his room, though he hadn't a chance to inform then he wouldn't be staying long.

He had been called home for an urgent matter. Or at least that's what he had been told. His mother had called him several times, but he hadn't found the opportunity to return the phone call. It wasn't until someone showed up at his doorstep did he realize he should have _made_ time. She was his mother after all.

Having been assured that she was in good health and that none of his sisters were in danger, Okita found himself less worried (he had spent the entire plane trip ripping up any piece of paper he could get his hands on) and more exhausted. New York to Tokyo was no easy flight and not having slept the entire time, well, it wore on a person.

Despite his personal wants, his mother's summons came first. It was the least he could do after not keeping her first priority.

Pulling himself away from the door, he made his way through the halls of the house he had spent his childhood. 'House' might have been the wrong word. Labyrinth would have been a more accurate term. Though the house spanned over two acres of land itself, it was a mere one story in hight and had more halls, passageways, and conjoined rooms than he could count. It had made hide-and-seek a lot more interesting, he remembered fondly.

When he arrived at his mother's office, he knocked gently on the doorframe. She had left the door open, having been told of his arrival, and before he could enter the room, she stood from her writing desk and hurried over to embrace him.

"Oh Shoushi!" she cried, giving him a kiss on the cheek, "I was so worried you wouldn't come."

He gave her a warm smile and took her hands in his. "How could I deny my only mother?" he asked.

She took back her hands and with a sneaky grin that lit up the crows feet by her eyes, gave him a light swat.

"You've been ignoring me," she chastised. "I believe the purpose of a phone is to answer it."

Okita let his fingers travel absently to the breast pocket of his black suit jacket where his phone rested against his heart. Yes, that's what it was for.

"I'm busy, mother," he said, "and the time difference can be very difficult to work around."

She laughed and perched herself on the desk. It wasn't even nine in the morning. "Busy? Do you have a girlfriend?"

He felt his cheeks warm. She was teasing him. She always did. He was the only son, and the youngest of her blood children. He was her baby and she never let him forget it. Not even now, at twenty-three, would he be able to escape her affectionate torture.

He didn't mind, really. He loved his mother and he loved his sisters, as much trouble as all the women might prove to be. He was grateful to have been raised in a loving and close knit family. They were an influential family, even if they weren't overly active in any sort of corporation or political movement. The Okita family preferred to stay out of messy business, out of corruption.

Or so they had fooled the world.

"I don't have a girlfriend," Okita said as he plopped himself down in an armchair, "American girls are scary."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it would work. The reality was that he never paid much attention to the opposite sex. He was so involved in his work that he never really considered the dating world and his lack of participation in it. Besides, American girls never looked twice at him. They were so set on the image of a football player or a rock star that a petite foreigner like himself hardly stood a chance.

It was better that way.

His mother sighed, her demeanor losing its jovial aura. "That's good," she said quietly.

Interest piqued, Okita sat up. "Mother?"

She smiled at him wistfully. "I don't want you breaking any hearts, Soushi."

He smiled back, as he always did, but he sensed that something wasn't quite right.

She sighed again and drummed her nails against the wood, not looking at him. "Your father's death has left our family in poor standing," she began. "There has been a lot of talk."

"I haven't heard anything," he mused.

"No, you wouldn't have. We are not an overly active family so it is unlikely that any news pertaining to us would cross over into the States."

It was true and he suddenly felt guilty for not reading up on his country's news. He had gone to America with a purpose and having been so intent on fulfilling it, he had mistakenly abandoned his roots as well.

"Your father's death is now under investigation," she told him, biting her lip to hold back the tears that formed in her eyes, "They're calling it murder now. They believe that he was involved in-that someone wanted him-" she couldn't bring herself to finish, but she didn't have to.

Okita sat before her, shock and confusion smeared across his face.

"But father was... it had been an accident," he whispered.

That's what they had been told. Two years ago, Okita Katsujiro had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hell, the driver had witnessed it.

"They-they're calling it first degree murder!" she burst out before losing her composure completely. Okita rushed to her side, pulling a hankie from his jacket, and wrapping his arms around his mother's shaking body.

"He had no enemies!" she wailed. "He was a good man! A good husband, and a good father!"

Okita began to rub her back, letting her sob into his shoulder. Yes, his father had been a good man. But then again, so was he. That didn't make the secret they both shared any less sinful.

He had not been surprised at this accusation, even if he had to act the part for his dear mother. What had surprised him, was that _she _had been left in the dark all these years.

Okita Katsujiro truly had been a good man.

Pulling away from his mother, Soushi wiped her cheeks of the moist paths her puffy eyes had created.

"Don't you worry about a thing," he said quietly, "I'm home now. We should have the girls over for dinner tonight, hm?"

She laughed, fanning her eyes. "You really want to deal with them after your long flight?"

He grinned at her, "If I can deal with you after my long flight, I believe I can handle the antics of Mitsu and Kin."

"And your little sister?"

He inhaled through his teeth in mock uncertainty. "I'll think about it."

She had resumed her seat behind the desk again and, using a tissue to dab at her eyes one last time, she handed him a magazine.

"Do you recognize that girl?"

Okita accepted the issue and laughed out loud. "The supermarket tabloids? What is this?"

"Do you recognize her?"

He looked down at the front cover. The woman pictured was a small thing, rivaling his youngest sister in size. Her hair hung over her shoulder in a fishtail braid and her smile, no, her _smirk_ was rather intriguing. It was as if she knew exactly where the photo would end up. She knew the games they played and she encouraged it. There was a fire in her eyes and the invitation was unmistakable.

_Do your worst._

"She looks. . .familiar," he replied.

"Her name is Shousha. She is the elusive daughter of the Yamata family and heir to their fortune, much to their distress."

Okita regarded this lightly as he flipped through the pages of the scandal book. She was everywhere! Walking her dog barefoot (Yamata family loses everything!), standing on ledges of bridges (Yamata heir attempts suicide!), and even having a drink with a friend (Shousha's cry for help: I'm an alcoholic!).

"She doesn't seem very elusive to me," he mused, finding a rather charming shot of her on the arm of what appeared to be her beau. Upon closer inspection of the man, the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

His mother sighed again. "To the public, no, she is not. However, Kanako and Mori have lost control of her and seem rather desperate.

Looking up, he smiled. "That's a shame. She's cute. She should be married by now, especially with such a huge company to succeed."

He began to put the magazine back on her desk. "I'm going to sleep for a while. Will you have someone wake me for dinner?"

She laid a hand over his to stop him. "I am not through with you, Soushi. I have something very important to ask of you so please listen carefully."

Eyes wide, he nodded for her to go on. She seemed like _she _was the one who was desperate.

"It pains me to have to request something so serious of one of my children, but it is the only way, I'm afraid."

Moving to kneel by her side, he tilted his lips up encouragingly. "What is it? You know I would do anything for you."

She smiled back, though her eyes didn't. "Your father is being investigated for criminal activity. Mob activity. If.. if they reach that conclusion, we will lose everything, including our reputation. Your sisters and their families will be shamed and there will be no one to take us in.

"You, Soushi, are the only hope we have." she stopped, closing her eyes. "The Yamata family has reached out to me, to us. They are a very powerful family and they are in debt to your father. They can clear our name with a single phone call. There is only one condition."

Though her pause was meant for her to gather the courage to place the family's burden on her only son, Okita took the opportunity to laugh. Standing, he swiped the tabloid from the wooden surface and held it up, waving it lightly.

"I need to get married, don't I?"

Her jaw hung slack for a moment. How could he react so casually? No, this was expected. He had always taken everything so lightly, why had she thought that marrying him off would upset him? No, she hadn't been worrying for him, she had been worrying for herself. Her two oldest daughters had married happily. Her younger, adopted daughter had little interest in dating, focusing intently on her college studies. She had always hoped that Soushi would fall in love as his sisters had and start a wonderful happy family. She never wanted to see his smile falter, or his spirit waver.

But an arranged marriage? He smiled about it now, but she could not guarantee his lifelong happiness and as a mother, that terrified her. How could she live with herself if she allowed, no, requested, he live out the rest of his life wishing there was someone different by his side? He accepted this insanity because he wanted what was best for the family, regardless of his own life.

There was a light tap on the top of her head that drew her out of her musings. She looked up at her son, smiling brilliantly as he always did, with the rolled up magazine in his right hand.

"Please don't worry, mother," he said cheerfully, "I believe this is a good thing. If anyone can tame the she-beast," he jabbed his free thumb towards himself with a grin, "it's me."

She found herself doubting him then. He was far to gentle and Shousha, from what she had read, and what Kanako had told her, was reckless, irresponsible, and had a distinct disregard for authority. Also, if what the tabloids and gossip programs said were true, she was currently dating a man nearly ten years her senior. A notorious white collar thug. A scoundrel under the rouse of revolution.

Katsura Kogoro.

xxxx

**Author's Note:** And that concludes the first chapter! I'm pretty excited about this, how about you? I do want to have a Saitou/Tokio parallel in here as well, but I haven't really fleshed anything out for them. I've been tossing several ideas around and none of them are really sticking in my head, so we'll just have to see what happens! Thanks for reading; see you soon :)


	2. The Rebellion of a Daughter

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 02**

Yamata Shousha stood in a white room, crowded with books, magazines, plants that had long outgrown their pots, and more furniture than any mathematic calculation might have proved could fit in one space. There was an easel before her, a paintbrush in her hand, and a stool that had once been white, and seemingly had also once been black, brown, green, and turquoise, was situated next to her with a wild assortment of paints as well as a plastic cup of muddy water.

The beat from a stero somewhere in the chaos thumped steadily, but quietly in the air and as she contemplated her next move with the handle of the brush tapping against her front teeth, her hips swung in time to the music.

"Where do I want you?" she wondered, moving the brush in the air, trying to gauge exactly where she wanted her next color to be placed.

Frustrated, she wiggled her legs back and forth, whining. "Maybe I should go back to school."

From a (surprisingly white) couch across the room, Katsura Kogoro looked up from his laptop. He was a man of medium build, with gentle features and warm eyes. His hair was slicked back casually and three tiny strands poked forward defiantly.

"All the schooling in the world won't help you if you don't have confidence in your work, honey," he told her, removing his reading glasses and slipping them into the breast pocket of his incredibly white dress shirt.

Shousha frowned at the term 'honey'. He always called her that, like they were married. They didn't even live together.

It annoyed her.

"I just can't figure this one out," she sighed, breaking out some ridiculous dance moves as she always did when she was trying to decipher what the canvas was telling her.

"WHO ARE YOU?" she shouted at it, but as they all did in moments of artistic struggle, it said nothing.

"I have no doubt that you will discover who she-"

"-He," Shousha interrupted.

"-who he is," Katsura corrected himself, "before the opening night."

Shaking her head, she decided to abandon her attempts for now. She needed to clear her head, get some fresh air, and maybe some ramen, before interrogating her painting any further. It was like the mob, she thought grimly, torture them as much as you please; if they won't talk, they won't talk.

There was a small buzzing on a table nearby, followed by the obnoxious screaming of a death metal band. Shousha glanced over and, lifting her leg, moved to nudge the table over with her toe and silence the ringing of her phone.

Katsura was faster, using one arm to grip her elbow and prevent her from falling, and the other to snatch up the phone. He slid his finger over the touch screen to answer it and Shousha rolled her eyes, beginning to clean up. She was in no mood for talking. He could deal with her mother.

"Hello, Yamata-san? Yes, how are you?" he paused, giving Shousha a playful wink. His girlfriend, however, was in no mood for games. Taking her cup and palette to the sink, she used her (almost) paint free wrist to toss her braided hair over her shoulder, and emptied the murky liquid down the drain.

Katsura chatted politely with her mother on the phone and she hardly paid any attention. He was so sure of himself, standing there in his crisp shirt and tailored pants, having spent most of _his_ day designing a website for the art gallery they were about to open together. He was always well groomed, well dressed, and well behaved. She on the other hand, hadn't washed her clothes in days, cursed too much, and had no grasp on her identity.

Painting was the only tool she had to make a mark on the world, as small as it might be. Even if she chose to inherit the company her parents owned and ran, no one would see her as who she was. They would see dollar signs, and contracts; designer clothes and a wine glass that never seemed to empty.

She couldn't deal with that sort of life. She wouldn't lose herself to the expectations of society. But how could she lose herself if she didn't even know who she _was?_

Sneaking a glance at Katsura again, she felt a pang of jealousy. How did he do it? She should have been grateful. Ever since they had met he had done nothing but support her. Even though she had no standing in the art world, he had introduced her to all the right people, and now her dream was coming true.

Still, what was that feeling? Like he was helping her for his own entertainment, like he knew he was a better, more successful person than she was, like he was just flexing, saying, _look what I can do._

She shook her head. Just because she was having a bad day didn't mean she needed to over analyze everything. He was a good man and she was lucky. He was a much better catch than her father had been for her mother and vice versa.

"Shousha."

Katsura's gentle calling pulled her thoughts and she fumbled with the cup as she turned to face him,

He smiled at her softly. "Your mother wishes to speak to you," he said, handing her the phone. She noticed it had been turned off. "in person."

Shousha groaned. "I'm not in the mood for her bullshit."

He laughed as he watched her cross the room, shoving her phone into her back pocket and pulling her paint-stained tee shirt over her head.

"You never are," he pointed out.

"Yeah but," she paused to pull a different shirt, this one completely free of stains, over her hear, "today I'm especially not in the mood."

He came up behind her then, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and kissing her neck.

"Would dinner put you in the mood?" he murmured, "Italian? Eight o'clock?"

Despite her mood, she smiled and leaned into his touch. "That could put me in the mood," she replied, rocking on her heels.

"Good," he said, "giving her another soft kiss, "Go give your mother hell. I'll have my driver meet you out front."

Shousha pulled away from him, keeping her hand on his arm. "I'm just going to walk."

Katsura frowned. "You know how uncomfortable that makes me, honey. You'd be safer in a car."

She offered him a small smile, "I need to think," she told him, "and Ta-chan needs to be walked too."

He rubbed his forehead chuckling. Of course. Ta-chan.

"I'll see you tonight though!" she chirped, giving him a short kiss, and then opening the door to the hallway.

She was greeted immediately by a hulking beast of a dog, eighty pounds of pure muscle, and at least five pounds of fur. His ears were alert and his tail, equally as fluffy as the rest of him, hung low, wagging lazily.

She pulled a leash and harness from a hook on the wall and crouching slightly, began to fit him with it.

"Sometimes I want to shave you," she grunted, blindly searching for the clasp under his belly through the soft forest that was his undercoat. After several minutes of trial and error, She stood, spitting out several furs, and snapped the leash into place.

It was time to go.

xxxx

Okita Soushi and his mother walked through the cold and unfriendly halls of Yamata house, lead by Kanako whose expression had never been anything than bitter. She was so rigid, so business-like, he felt a small pang of sympathy for her daughter.

Kanako opened the great doors to a drawing room and ushered him inside.

"My husband and I will go work out the details of the contract with your mother. Please make yourself comfortable. My daughter should arrive shortly."

"Am I not allowed to have a say in any of this deal?" Okita asked curiously, to which Kanako flashed her eyes.

"Children have no need to know of their parents' business. You should be old enough to know that."

Slightly put off as being referred to as both a child _and_ an adult (in the same sentence!) condescendingly, he bowed slightly in apology and when they had closed the doors behind them, he sat down, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. It had to have been at least fifteen feet high.

The entire house was intimidating. Everything was huge, old, and expensive. He was no stranger to nice things, but even he felt uneasy sitting in the antique armchair with its incredibly feminine floral upholstery. What if the pen in the pocket of his pants were to explode? He looked down at the marble tile and moved his feet apart, suddenly nervous that he might have scuffed it with his shoes.

Remembering he even had his shoes on, he frowned. Kanako had told them not to bother removing them. The maids were in a constant state of cleaning. To help them by preventing a mess would only waste her money.

What sort of family _was _this?

The sound of the doors flying open caused him to jump and he turned his attention to the person who had entered.

It was _her_.

For a second, Okita's heart pounded. What would he say? How was he supposed to introduce himself? He knew he had enough charm to make easy conversation with the ladies, but those ladies weren't in for the surprise of their life.

She was a lot prettier in real life, he decided, watching her scan the room. Even with the annoyed scowl plastered across her face, there was something quite lovely in her eyes. She was just as small as he had imagined her to be, probably just scraping by five foot two (which, he remembered amusedly, wasn't much shorter than he was) and maybe weighing ninety pounds soaking wet.

He grinned. Even if she was a complete terror, at least he could enjoy looking at her.

She seemed to notice him then and, putting away the cellphone she had been texting with, shifted her weight with a huff.

"Have you seen my mother?" she asked exasperatedly, as if it seemed that _no one_ in this bloody house had seen her.

It wasn't the greeting he had expected, and he hadn't thought up an answer for that. It was so direct she might as well been asking what he was there for, and he wasn't entirely sure if he should be the one to tell her.

"I believe she is with your father," he replied carefully. "they should be here shortly, I think."

She rolled her eyes. Of course they would make her wait. Just to prove they could.

"And you are?"

He laughed lightly, standing and dusting off the front of his jacket. "Forgive me. My name is Okita Soushi."

He offered her a smile, but it was clear she had no interest in him. She was standing behind a chaise that matched his chair and for a brief second, Okita wondered if she was wearing any shoes.

Shousha pulled her phone out again, replying to another text with lightning speed and spoke, her voice absent and clearly making small talk to fill the awkward void of a stranger in her home.

"So what are you doing here, Akita?"

"Okita," he corrected, "I'm here to see you."

She snorted and looked at him pointedly. "You have an appointment?"

He beamed. "As a matter of fact I do."

This seemed to gain her attention and, not taking her eyes away from him, she walked around the chaise to get a better look at him. Never in her life had a young man make an appointment to see her. In fact, no one had ever made an appointment to see her. The only people interested in her were the gossip columnists and the sleaze anchors.

She knew that this Okita fellow had no affiliation with the likes of them. She recognized his name. Okita. Her parents had frequently mentioned being indebted to the Okita family but when she had looked into them she had found nothing interesting. They were old money and kept their slates clean.

She had come in contact with the two oldest daughters at several gallery openings as they and their husbands were polite society folk and though she was too, she had always gone of her own genuine interest and not because it was required of her.

They were sociable girls.

There was a third daughter, adopted, that Shousha didn't know anything about, and a son, the runaway heir she liked to call him, who for whatever reason, had come back from wherever it was he had gone off to, and was sitting in her mother's drawing room, requesting an audience with her.

But what would someone like him want with someone like her? He may have left the country to pursue business elsewhere, but _he_ was still respected as a member of society where her defiance made her a disgrace.

When she came around the chaise, Okita found the curiosity that replaced her annoyance to be quite fetching, really. As she tried to make sense of him, he noticed that she never lost her posture or that haughty spark of rebellion. She was spoiled, that much was apparent, but was she so rotten?

There was a clicking sound that accompanied her footsteps and when she was in full view of him, he finally noticed her companion.

Even though the beast was leashed, Okita couldn't help but sit back down, gripping the arms of the chair. There wasn't much he was afraid of, but there was no way he was about to make any sudden movements around _that._

Seeing his reaction, Shousha let a sly smile creep up onto her face. Moving slowly, she undid the clasp on the leash that kept Ta-chan bound to her. Okita's grip on the chair tightened significantly, but he smiled at her.

"What a beautiful dog," he said lightly, "though he looks more like a wolf."

"He is a wolf," she replied.

Okita laughed nervously. "You don't say."

She softened her expression then and giggled at him, giving the wolf a rough rustle of his fur atop his head.

"He won't hurt you. He's a good boy."

Taking in his doubtful look, she put two fingers under the dog's lip and pulled upwards, revealing his fangs. When he remained calm, she tugged on his ears, drummed against his ribcage, and finally, swung one leg over his back and leaned forward, resting on the canine as if he were a Shousha-sized pony.

"You can do anything to him," she told Okita as if she didn't quite believe it herself, "and he won't do a thing. He's just a big ball of fluff, really."

Okita felt himself relax then. She was incredibly entertaining.

"Isn't it illegal to keep a wild animal as a pet?" he asked, debating weather or not to get up and pet the animal.

"I have a license," she replied, "besides, he's not wild. He's a fourth generation mill dog. He doesn't even know what a deer or rabbit is."

"A mill dog?"

She unmounted then, leading him by the harness to where Okita was seated. "There was a mill that bred wolves for fur. That's where I got him from."

"I didn't realize you could purchase animals from places like that," he said softly, as his fingers found the dog's fur. It was incredibly soft and if he had still been a boy, he might have hugged him. This was certainly not what he had expected when he had come to Yamata house this afternoon.

Shousha leaned against a table, crossing her booted ankles. "They don't. I went there to buy the operation and I just couldn't resist him."

"So you're in the fur industry, yet you rescued one of the animals?" he teased.

"No," came her cold reply, which caused Okita's attention to be drawn away from the soft fibers of Ta-chan's ears and towards his intended.

"My parents had their eye on that company for quite some time, thinking to expand their reach into the retail world. I bought it from under them. I sold it as soon as I bought it."

"To whom?" he asked, out of habit more than curiosity.

"A wildlife preservation society," she replied. "Originally I was going to sell it to the highest bidder that would enter into an agreement not to let Yamata get their hands on it, but in the end, I couldn't let all those animals die."

Okita smiled at that. "That was bold of you, to steal from your parents like that."

"It wasn't the first time," she mused, playing with her phone again, "and it won't be the last. I fully intend to destroy Yamata Company with my own hands."

And suddenly it all made sense. Not only had Shousha blatantly shamed her family with her actions and lifestyle, but she was single handedly putting the company at a standstill. He didn't know how she was able to get away with it, but that was, in fact, an incredibly difficult situation for Kanako and Mori. They could disown her and strip her of her inheritance, but it wouldn't do any good. She was buying and reselling companies instead of maintaining her own. She was undoubtedly sitting on mountains of cash with no responsibility or attachment to anyone or any thing.

She was indeed a force to be reckoned with.

A monster daughter.

The doors opened again and their parents entered, all looking rather pleased with themselves.

Okita stood, bowing respectfully to each of them. Shousha did the same to his mother, but that was where the formalities ended. Nothing, not even the slightest of side glances were shared between her and her father. Her mother, however, addressed her icily.

"Shousha."

Shousha raised her chin. "Kanako."

"I thought I told you to keep that mongrel out of my house."

"I thought I told you to keep your nose out of my life," came Shousha's acrid rebuttal.

Kanako narrowed her eyes, gripping the table for control. "You forget that I am still your mother."

"You forget that I don't give a shit."

The slap that echoed through the room caused Okita's mother to jump, giving her son's shoulder a worried squeeze. Ta-chan whimpered and Okita hugged him 'round the neck, 'shhh'ing him affectionately.

Shousha clutched her stinging cheek and Kanako thrust her arm out, pointing at Okita.

"Apologize to Soushi and Okita-san immediately," she demanded.

"What for?" Shousha asked bitterly.

"For your lack of respect. How dare you use such language in front of a young man and a lady?"

"He probably doesn't care-"

But Kanako's frustration had reached its (relatively low) boiling point. Gripping the back of her daughter's neck fiercely, she dragged her forward, shoving her down to her knees before Okita, ignoring the scream of pain as Shousha's bones connected with the solid marble beneath her.

"Apologize!"

Okita held up his hands, "It's alright, Yamata-san. Please do not hurt her anymore."

His mother had long since lost her happy expression. The scene that was playing out before her was one she had only heard of, but never witnessed. She had loved her children far too much to ever inflict pain on them. She hadn't even been able to spank them. As she watched Shousha struggle to stand, swinging her elbows against her mother's hold, she understood why the girl acted the way she did. If this was how she was raised, she had only two choices: accept it, or fight it.

"Apologize!" Kanako screamed again.

Though Shousha knew it would be much easier to just grit her teeth, look up at the man in front of her and mutter "sorry", she refused to let Kanako win _any_ of their altercations, especially when they got physical. She had plenty of scars and bruises as a result, but she also had Kanako slowly going insane, unable to control her at all.

At the moment, she felt that she was winning. Even though her neck was tingling and there was a sharp pain shooting down her spine, she felt victorious. Her knees would be bruised for several days, but she would take that ten times over just to replay this again. After all, she was the victim here, she knew she was, just by looking at the horrified expression on the face of the woman behind Okita.

Her mother was making a scene in front of a _real_ lady and that would only help in the deterioration of the company's reputation. This was too easy.

Kanako's fingers in her hair caused Shousha to look up, and the stinging grip she held as she wrapped her daughters braid around her hand kept Shousha in place. A place that made her rather uncomfortable. She was face to face with Okita now, unable to look away from him and his gentle, pitying eyes.

"You _will_ apologize to our guests."

There wasn't much she could do now, so she let out a small apology.

"Please, Yamata-san," Okita was saying, "let her go. She's in pain."

Shousha found herself growling at him. She was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles. He had no knowledge of her life and she didn't need him butting in.

Kanako let go then, stepping back and crossing her arms. "This is how you must deal with her, Soushi," she said, "or else she will destroy your life."

Rubbing her neck, Shousha whipped her head around. "What the hell do you mean 'deal with her'?"

With feigned concern, Kanako gave an equally fake smile. "Did he not tell you, dear?"

She whipped her head back to the man in the chair. "Tell me what?"

He shifted nervously. Kanako looked over to her husband, who cleared his throat.

"You are no longer free to do as you please, Shousha," he began bitterly. "we have entered into an agreement with the Okita family in order to clear our debt to them."

Using her palm to steady herself against the tile as she stood shakily, Shousha cursed under her breath before gritting her teeth. What was going on here?

"I suggest you cut ties with that Katsura fellow you've been tramping around with," her father continued stonily, "because from now on, you belong to _Soushi_."

Shousha's breath caught and she felt panic rising in her chest. "What do you mean I _belong _to him?" she all but whispered. This was something her parents had never tried to pull and there was a heavy weight in her gut that told her they weren't bluffing.

The smile that crept across Kanako's features then would haunt her forever. "As of today, Shousha, Okita Soushi is your fiance."

_No._

"Wha-"

"In three months," she continued, satisfaction oozing from every word, "he will be your husband."


	3. The Concern of a Sister

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 03**

Shousha turned around wildly several times, desperately looking at each of the room's occupants. No one was on her side here. No one would rescue her. Her heart began to beat at an uncontrollable pace and she struggled to keep herself standing.

"I won't!" she cried, "I won't marry him!"

Her face was burning, her neck stung, and every ounce of pressure she put on her knees made her want to buckle to the floor. If she had been a weaker woman, she would have been crying, but she had learned long ago that crying got her nowhere and she resolved only to do so in private or in trusted company.

Kanako still had her arms crossed and she glowered at her daughter. "And why not?" she challenged.

"He's short!" she replied, pointing an accusing finger at Okita, "and he looks like a girl!"

She marched over to him and grabbed the short pony tail that he so fondly sported, "what is up with this?" she screamed.

Okita grimaced as a sharp pain shot through his scalp and he immediately reached up for her wrist to free his hair from her grasp. As their skin came into contact, Shousha cried out, pulling away immediately and stumbling into an end table.

He watched her fall backwards, her knees still not having recovered from their assault, and as she grasped for something to hold on to, he recognized the animalistic terror in her eyes. Kanako was already demanding she apologize again, but he knew there was no need. She hadn't meant to insult him; this was her defense. She was clawing for an escape.

"I won't! I won't!" Shousha was screaming as Mori closed in on her. He moved to strike her, but she was faster, jabbing his ribs with her elbow.

"Why would you do this to me?" she asked, her breathing becoming shaky and labored.

Kanako laughed. "We are repaying our debt."

"Bullshit," she spat. "This is so like you, Kanako. Pretending to do something out of the goodness of your heart, or to repay a debt, when really you know that you're getting the better end of the bargain."

Her father had closed in on her again, but before he could move to touch her, Okita put himself between the two of them.

"Yamata-san, _please_," he snapped, "stop hitting her!"

Enough was enough. Had they really expected her to comply? Were they really so foolish as to assume this deal would go over so well when their daughter had always otherwise made a point of being completely disobedient?

Or, Okita thought, perhaps they were enjoying this display. He was close to Shousha now, not three inches from her body. He could hear her heart's frantic pulsing, he could feel her panic and her agony.

He brought his eyes up to hers, taking a deep breath. "I do not want our life to start this way, Shousha. Please calm down."

But she didn't calm down.

Furious, she shoved his chest and broke free, legs wobbling as she took several steps to the side.

"Who do you think you are?" she demanded, "_our _life? You're no better than them! Don't think that saving me from one stupid slap changes anything!"

She fell to the ground and as she made her way back up, Ta-chan offered his body as support for his trembling mistress. She leaned against him, thankful for his loyalty, and found herself unable to speak. Her throat was closing and she needed to get out. Hurriedly, she half dragged herself from the room, slamming the giant doors behind her.

Once in the hall, she pushed her back up against the elevator button and as it opened, she fell into it. Her mind was spinning and her vision was becoming splotchy. Yanking her phone from her back pocket, she fumbled with the touch screen.

"Kogoro, Kogoro," she chanted, trying to fight the panic attack that she might be able to dial his phone number.

"Hello, there," came the smooth greeting, and Shousha let herself collapse with the phone against her ear.

"Kogoro help me. . ." she whispered, swallowing the pain that came with speaking. "I've done it again."

xxxx

Okita beckoned for his mother to sit. Kanako had ordered tea and Mori was pacing the room.

"Won't you sit, Soushi?" she asked.

His hand were clenched on the back of his mother's chair and though he offered his host a most gracious smile, he found it difficult not to strangle the woman.

"No thank you. I don't intend to stay very much longer."

She asked him why, but before he could reply, his mother spoke.

"Have you always disciplined your daughter in such a harsh manner?" she asked politely.

Kanako pursed her lips. "She has always been a demon child, I'm afraid. Not a day goes by that I wish she had never been born."

The other woman sucked in her breath, horrified that a parent could think that of their child.

"Surely it is simply tough love," she said daintily, reaching for the tea, "but you needn't worry. Soushi will take very good care of her. I'm sure you are only wishing for her happiness."

"No," Kanako said flatly, "I am not."

Mori stopped his pacing then, and jabbed a finger at Okita. "I don't care what you do to her," he said, "cheat on her, beat her, leave her body on the train tracks for all I care! So long as I _never have to see her again_."

He must have been expecting Okita to share in his sentiment because when he smiled and tapped his mother's shoulder, Mori frowned.

"I do believe we will be taking our leave now," he told Shousha's parents lightly, smiling brightly to each of them as he bowed in farewell. "Please do not bother to see us out. We can discuss wedding details via e-mail."

His mother bid them good day as well and when they both stepped out into the sunny afternoon, she began to cry.

"I am so sorry, Soushi," she said, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, "I have sold you into a terrible family."

But he didn't share her disappointment. Coming up behind her, he playfully threw his arms around her shoulders and rested his head on one of his arms, grinning.

"Don't apologize, mother," he laughed. "In fact, I want to thank you."

She turned her head to look at her son questioningly. "Whatever for?"

"Didn't you see her?" he asked curiously. "She is lovely."

To this, she laughed. "You are being serious, Soushi?"

"I am," he said, nodding, then sliding away from her to open the door of their car, "She hides herself behind her attitude, but I managed to catch a glimpse of something more."

"Is that so?"

The drive to Okita house was relatively short and when they arrived, Soushi headed directly to his bedroom. His mother had insisted they go to Yamata house immediately and he had been unable to catch even a small cat nap. He had to be nearing forty-six hours without sleep and while he was no stranger to deprivation, he was much more than just physically drained at this point. He needed sleep if for nothing else but to rid himself of the abuse he had just witnessed.

Not even bothering to undress, he collapsed onto the bed and without a second thought, passed out.

He hadn't been sleeping four hours when he felt someone enter the room. Despite his mostly asleep state, his hand reached under his jacket. He shouldn't have bothered, as a loud female voice broke through his silence and he felt a foot prodding at his legs.

"For God's sake, Soushi," she said, "It's almost six thirty. Get up!"

So she was home. His little sister. His favourite sister. The current bane of his sleep deprived existence.

Tokio.

"I had a rough day," he said, still unable to open his eyes, "long flight."

Tokio shook her hair from her face and raised her leg, bringing her foot down to rest on his back much like a pirate claiming his territory. She rested her arm on her knee and leaned over to poke her brother's face. He was much faster, and covered his head with a pillow.

"So why are you home?" she asked, "is it because of my birthday?"

Okita made no reply.

"Did you bring me a present?" she pressed, "because if you didn't, that's fine. I know what I want for my birthday and it's something only you can give me."

He grunted and she sighed, pouting for a moment before beginning her interrogation again.

"So really, why did you come home so suddenly?"

"Mrmg gtimmm margmmm," came his muffled reply.

Annoyed, Tokio ripped the pillow from his face. "I can't hear you when you mumble like that!"

He turned to her, finally cracking open his eyes, and with a hoarse whisper, repeated himself.

"I'm getting married."

Stomping her foot against his back, she tugged on his hair, shaking her head. "Louder, Soushi. I sounds like you said you're getting married."

"I am getting married!" he said finally, so loud that his sister jumped and threw the pillow back at him. Rubbing his face, Okita pulled it to him, hugging it to his chest and doing his best to give her a goofy smile, "happy?"

Tokio's grey eyes widened and she pulled her leg away from him. "You have an _American girlfriend?_"

"No, no," he said, laughing, having abandoned all hopes of sleep. "she's-"

"Is she blonde?" Tokio demanded, "does she drive a BMW? DOES SHE HAVE IMPLANTS?"

"Tokio!" he chastised jokingly, swinging his foot out to nudge her slightly off balance, "She's not American. Her name is Shousha and she's very much like you."

Tokio looked at her brother decisively, not fully believing that he had just up and decided to get married. He wasn't the type. He was always polite and good natured around women, but as far as she could remember, he had only dated a couple girls and each of those relationships had ended with him saying that there was such a big world out there and they should be able to live life without someone like him holding them back from fulfilling their dreams.

Tokio had always thought that line was lame, but he continued to use it. Really, she thought he feared commitment. All the girls he had dated were nice, well off, and treated her brother like a king. No girl had ever been able to resist his charms, after all.

To hear that he had come home so suddenly to marry a Japanese girl, well, it made her uneasy. But then she remembered what he had just said.

"Did you say Shousha?" she asked, "like, Yamata Shousha?"

Okita brought himself up on his elbows. "The very same."

_That_ was most interesting. Tokio was just about to open her mouth and make a comment, when their two older sisters appeared in the doorway. Mitsu, the oldest and just as graceful as their mother, gave a warm smile, while Kin, the family tomboy, flashed him a peace sign.

"Hello ladies," he crooned, rolling over across the bed before setting his feet on the floor and standing. Kin and Tokio were exchanging fist bumps, but Mitsu had kept her eyes on their brother, not having missed the two flashes of silver from beneath his jacket as he had moved.

"Mother invited us over for dinner," Mitsu began, moving to hug him as he approached. Expertly, yet without any hint of threat, he caught her hands and leaned in to peck her on the cheek.

"It's because I just couldn't wait to see you all," he said, smiling as Kin gave him a high-five, "I can't seem to get enough estrogen in New York."

"You will soon," Tokio noted, her tone slick and suggestive. Her sisters looked at him with furrowed brows.

"What do you mean, Tokio?" Kin asked.

She broke out into a huge grin, shaking her fists excitedly. "Soushi's getting married!" she cried.

Okita sent her a pleading look. Couldn't she have waited thirty seconds before announcing _his _news to the world?

Kin slapped him on the back. "I can't believe it! Our little Sou-chan is all grown up!" she cooed, pinching his cheek and ruffling his hair.

He laughed, "It was a bit unexpected for me as well," he admitted.

Mitsu looked over in surprise, a slight blush creeping up on her delicate features. "You don't mean. . ." She covered her mouth lightly with her manicured fingers. "She isn't pregnant, is she?"

Okita flushed at this, stepping back nervously. "Th-that's not what I meant by unexpected."

"What else could you mean?" she asked, and his other sisters tilted their heads in question.

He took a deep breath, smiled, and then began to shoo them from the room. "I promise I will explain everything over dinner. Let me just change and I'll see you in the dining room."

It took more strength than he imagined it would have, and he even found himself digging his heels into the rug, struggling to close the door with his back as the three females tried to fight against being kicked out. When the door finally clicked behind him, he locked it and hurriedly shook off his suit.

When he was in far more comfortable attire: boot cut jeans in a pleasing dark wash, and a vintage fitting tee sporting the logo of a band that had died with teased hair and spandex, he shoved everything he had tossed onto the floor into his suitcase, locked it, and shoved it under his bed.

There was a knock at his door then and he frantically looked around, making sure everything was in place, before opening it. Mitsu stood there alone, smiling gently.

"Can we talk? Dinner won't be ready for another half-hour or so."

He smiled back, moving out of the way.

"You lock your door now?" she asked, moving around the room and taking in its every aspect. Nothing had changed. The shelves were all still perfectly organized with trinkets from his childhood, the floor was spotless, and even the bed, which he had hopped out of no less than fifteen minutes earlier, had returned to its original state.

"It's a habit," he said offhandedly, pulling out a second suitcase from his closet. He might as well unpack. He had promised his mother that he would stay at least two weeks.

Mistu settled against the wall, watching him.

"I didn't realize New York was so dangerous," she said quietly.

"It isn't," he told her, pulling several collared shirts, all the same striking shade of blueish-turqoise, with magnificent white french cuffs, from the bag. He'd have to get those pressed. "the cab drivers are pretty scary and some of the street vendors are sketchy, but it's not so bad."

"I only assumed it must be," she said, crossing her arms, and narrowing her eyes at him, "if a _financial advisor_ feels the need to carry two handguns on his person."

He paused for a fraction of a second, and she caught his hesitation. Still, he turned to her, smile plastered on his face as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"Guns?" he laughed, "Mitsu are you alright?"

"I saw them."

He knew she wasn't lying. He had been so tired, and so accustomed to having them on him, that he had forgotten about them completely. Having been collected by means of a private jet didn't help matters. There had been no security to pass through.

"You're not a financial advisor, are you?" she asked, softening her expression.

"No, I am," he said truthfully, arranging various hair products and colognes on the bedside table.

She didn't believe him. "Soushi, you aren't in trouble over there are you? You know you can always come to me if you are. My husband will help you."

He laughed. Of course he laughed. "I am not in trouble, Mitsu. Please do not worry."

"How can I not worry? You're my only brother, Soushi. I don't think I could bear to lose you, especially after what happened to Papa."

Abandoning his unpacking, Okita walked up to his sister and took hold of her genetically perfect hands. "Do not worry," he repeated quietly, "I am very good at what I do."

"What _do_ you do?" she asked, bottom lip trembling.

He smiled, "I protect people."

xxxx

**Author's Note:** Please tell me I'm not the only one who gets butterflies thinking about Okita in french cuffs. ;)


	4. The Will of a Brother

**Author's Note:** I intended to get this chapter up a lot sooner, but I was sick this past week and didn't trust myself to play around with words. I did start drawing some, and I've added some links in my profile to some fanart I got done for this story. :) I'm using them just to get into the swing of drawing and playing around but I figured you guys might get a kick out of them. I hope to have the whole cast done eventually hehe

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 04**

There wasn't much in Katsura's apartment that gave any hint as to what sort of man he was, but perhaps that alone defined him. Everything was perfect, clean, geometric. There was nothing hidden or stuffed away. All of his belongings had their place and the only mess to be seen was an ever growing pile of tissues on his glass coffee table.

Shousha had been relatively calm for a little over an hour now and was now curled up on one side of his couch, crying quietly. This happened more often than he had initially imagined and because of it, Katsura found himself quite skilled in the ways of calming her panic attacks.

Many people, her parents and the gossip columnists in particular, found their relationship to be scandalous, shallow, and disturbing. How on earth could someone like him find interest in a girl like her? And on the other side of that, why was she attached to someone so much older than herself?

It was simple, really, though no one else would understand. While it was true that their relationship was rooted in the physical and the material, it wasn't without its emotional attachments. There was a safety she found in him; he was honest, open, and he had never judged her. He was her support and her anchor, the structure her life had always lacked.

For Katsura, Shousha was refreshing. She never conformed and she was insanely unpredictable. He understood that the polite members of society considered his attraction to her to be filthy and perverse; he was thirty-seven, she was a sweet twenty-two, fresh out of college.

He also understood the married men his age who gave him thumbs up as he passed by, but he didn't share their sentiment. He wasn't with her because she was young or because she was rich. There was a mutual need between them and up until now, they had been happy.

"What do we do?" Shousha whispered, pulling the blanket she had covered herself with up to her mouth.

Katsura sat beside her and brushed the loose strands of hair from her face. "What do you want to do?"

She let out a rough sigh. "Kill him?" she suggested, throwing a lopsided smile.

Katsura laughed. "That's a little drastic, honey."

She shrugged. "You know everyone. I'm sure you could put out a hit for him if you wanted to."

He smiled back grimly. _You have no idea. "_I don't think murder is the solution to our problem."

Shousha sighed again, resting her chin on the arm of the soft leather couch. She had three months to come up with an escape. Less than that, maybe. She hadn't stayed long enough to hear the date that her parents had so graciously decided on and she wasn't about to find out. The less she knew, the happier she would be.

Katsura stood, leaving for a moment before returning with a steaming mug of hot cocoa. It was June and much too hot for such a drink, but he knew it would please her. It certainly made him happy. He found he was much like a child in that sense. No matter how badly his day was turning out, a mug of hot cocoa could turn it around.

She smiled as he set it down before her and he reached over her to lower the temperature on the air conditioner. At least he could make them chilly.

"Can we go away somewhere?"

Using one arm to toss her blanket over his shoulders as well, Katsura put his feet up onto the table.

"I don't see why not," he replied, "We haven't traveled in a while."

"I want to go away forever," she whispered straddling his thighs and taking his face in her hands, "I want to escape this life."

She kissed him and he stretched his hand, blindly searching the air for the table. He had just purchased an arctic fox pelt for this room. He wasn't about to spill chocolate on it.

"We can go wherever you want," he said, "anywhere at all."

She sat back, fingering the collar of his shirt. "I want to go to New York."

Katsura couldn't mask his surprise. New York? It seemed she didn't know where her fiancee hailed from. He was willing to run anywhere with her, but if it was an exit route she was looking for, she wouldn't find it there.

"Why New York?" he asked, curious.

"Because," she said, still not looking at him, "You go there all the time. You know it well enough, right? We could change our plans. Open up a gallery there."

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Shousha."

"Why?" she demanded, giving his tie a tug. "My English is good enough and it wouldn't be too difficult to get gallery space."

He found himself tracing her collarbone then, fingers playing lightly against the skin that her v-neck shirt surrendered to his vision. She was so small in comparison to him, not that he considered himself to be a large man. Still, he had always liked to think that she fit him perfectly. There was never any fumbling for comfort when they lay cuddled on the couch, or awkward adjustments when he had her in his bed. Like everything else in his life, she fell into place.

They never talked of love, but he knew it would be difficult to give her up. He also knew that there was no fighting this. She talked of running away, but she would have to return and then she would be married to a man that Katsura hated almost as much as she hated her parents.

It wasn't that he was giving up or deciding not to fight. There was plenty he was fighting for, but she couldn't be an addition to the war that was waging behind the scenes of this world's stage. This move had not been made by his enemies, but a neutral party which, in his mind, meant that losing Shousha was meant to happen. He didn't like it, and he wouldn't enjoy letting go, but this was her place. He wouldn't defy that.

Much.

"New York," he mused, bringing his fingers up to tease her neck. New York would prove to be a difficult trip if they weren't careful. Opening a gallery there was an invitation for trouble, but maybe that was what she needed in order to realize she couldn't escape.

And maybe, just maybe, he would be able to savor every last second of this makeshift romance.

"New York it is."

xxxx

Dinner was not going well.

The three sisters had all but pounced on their poor brother for details, and when their mother had clarified the situation, chaos broke out.

Mitsu sat completely rigid, glaring at her mother and giving a long, detailed, and completely shamelessly biased lecture as to why the match was inappropriate. Her husband, an athletic man, sat beside her, holding her hand affectionately, not minding at all that she was squeezing the life out of his fingers.

Kin had taken a more violent approach. There was shattered glass at her place where she had slammed down her water glass and a hairline crack in the table due to the force she had exerted. She had risen to her feet and with swinging fists, was screaming over her older sister, death threats and strings of curses spewing from her mouth.

Tokio was overjoyed.

Perhaps it was because she had come into the Okita family when she was ten years old and was not as concerned about reputations and fortunes. It also could have been due to the fact that she idolized the rebellious heiress. It took a lot of brass to spit in the face of your inheritance, but more than that, Tokio respected the fact that Shousha was standing up against someone who treated her unfairly.

From reading her biography and various fan sites, Tokio knew that as a child, Shousha's parents had paid her no mind, tossing her at governesses and servants. She hadn't been wanted and she hadn't been loved. It was a childhood that Tokio knew more than anyone in this room. Shousha had overcome this on her own, something that Tokio hadn't been able to do.

Her sisters would never understand, but as she sat there, bombarding her brother with questions, she felt overcome with excitement at the thought of her hero becoming her sister.

Through all the noise and the commotion, Okita's head remained surprisingly clear. He couldn't seem to shake the image of Shousha's horrified expression after he had touched her. He glanced over at Tokio who had now turned her joy over to Mitsu's husband, who was regarding all of this with a gentle smile of desperation.

_Shousha was afraid of him. _He knew it wasn't his fault and that he had done nothing wrong, but he still felt dirty and uneasy. Never in his life had a woman ever looked at him with such fear and pleading. The callous remarks his sisters were making about her weren't helping the matter.

With his two palms firmly on the table, Okita stood.

"Sisters."

All three of them stopped their various tirades and looked at him. He shook his head at them, smiling.

"This matter is not up for discussion," he began, "but if you absolutely must know, I entered into this agreement willingly."

"You're so much better than that little bitch," Kin snarled, fist at the ready. "She's got nothing better to do than prance around town causing trouble with that boyfriend of hers. She's only going to drag you down."

"She needs me," he argued softly, "she needs _us_."

Mitsu furrowed her brow delicately. "Soushi, whatever do you mean?"

Tokio bit her bottom lip. She saw the flicker of sadness cross her brother's face. She had only seen that look one other time.

"She's like me," Tokio whispered before looking at him directly, "isn't she?"

Okita nodded and Kin sat back in her seat slowly. Mitsu reached over her husband to grab hold of her youngest sister's hand.

Nine years ago their father, along with Soushi, had rescued her from her abusive father. They hadn't expected to come across the girl, but much like Shousha had with her dog, the Okita men had been unable to hand her over to government custody and had promptly adopted her into the family.

It was because of this that Tokio and Soushi shared a special bond. He was her savior and even though she found she needed it less and less, he was her protector. But now there was someone else much like her who needed to be saved. Someone whom her brother felt compelled to protect.

Tokio was glad for this. She wasn't dainty or fragile and while she found his overbearing nature (when he was home) to be endearing and oh-so-typical of him, she didn't need it. If there was someone out there in the world that did, she was more than willing to watch her brother play prince charming again. That was his way. He needed to take care of those weaker than he, whether they realize their shortcomings or not.

"I just can't believe you are getting married," Mitsu said quietly, "so suddenly. Without love."

Okita's eyes snapped to his sister. "Love?"

She lowered her eyes and the grip she had on her husband's hand became one of affection, replacing her angry clinching from a moment ago.

"I understand your sense of duty Soushi, and your desire to help others, but this isn't eighteen sixty-four. You should marry because you have fallen so deeply in love with a woman that you can't bear to live your life without her. I want you to be happy, to raise children that are not without the smile that you always show us. I want a sister who will spill romantic secrets, not one who can't stand the sight of you."

Kin nodded in agreement. "Forget about us for a second, Sou. What do you want? If it's this chick, then fine, but really, do you even know her? Do you want five years to go by and suddenly you're asking yourself when you started sleeping in separate beds? You're twenty-three, bro. You should be shacking up, not getting shackled."

Okita opened his mouth to voice his authority again, but Tokio cut him off.

"Neither of you understand what he is doing," she said, standing.

"You're right, we don't," Kin said, "It's fuckin' mental, but if you've had some great epiphany, please enlighten us."

Tokio leveled her gaze. "I don't understand completely, but he said it wasn't open for discussion. Sou's getting married to Shousha and you two should get used to it. Mama isn't bothered by it, so why should you be?"

Mitsu flashed a warm smile at Tokio, motioning for her to sit down. "Tokio, you're still young. You haven't even begun to date yet."

Tokio's face flushed. "I don't need to have a boyfriend to stand up for my brother."

"No, but without experience you can not see that you are defending someone who is very wrong."

There was a soft cough from the end of the table closest to their mother and the girls turned their attention to Kin's husband. He was a tall man, thin, lanky, and impeccably dressed. His glasses were too big and his voice too soft, and he trembled when all eyes were on him.

"I believe," he squeaked, "that you have too little faith in your brother. If a man can take a risk and travel across the sea to build a financial institution as successful as Mibu Financial, why then do you think he is incapable of choosing a bride? What is so wrong with taking on the unknown in married life? The two of you have played it safe, marrying men you have known since birth and settling into your roles with ease. I envy your brother. I have never had that sort of courage."

Okita regarded this with a nod and excused himself. He shouldn't have said anything. He should have kept his mouth shut until he was already married. Then there would have been nothing they could say. He knew where they were coming from and that they only had his best interest in mind, but there was too much they didn't know.

Too much_ he _hadn't known.

"Sou, wait!"

Tokio scrambled off her chair, grabbing an extra dinner roll as she made a mad dash after her brother. He slowed as she caught up to her and he turned to her, giving her a small smile.

"I'm going to bed, Tokio. I haven't caught up on my sleep and it's making me rather irritable."

_You're telling me_, she thought, sinking her teeth into the bread.

"I just wanna ask your for my birthday present," she said, swallowing, "only for like, a second."

He scratched his head. "I didn't bring you anything this time. I didn't have time."

She shook her head. "No that's not it. I want you to do something for me."

Pushing open the door to his room, he kicked off his jeans and dove under the covers. "What's up?" he asked.

Tokio pushed the dimmer on the light switch downwards, watching as a soothing orange glow filled the room. Did he still like to sleep like that?

"I want you to take me with you," she said, "to New York."

Okita sat up. "_What?_"

"I know, I know," she said quickly, "but there's a school there that I _really_ want to transfer to and I'll dorm there and everything. I promise I won't be a bother at all. I'll only live with you on the weekends and the fall semester doesn't start until September so I technically don't have to be there for a couple more months and-"

"No."

Tokio stomped her foot. "But _Soushi_," she whined, "Mama already said I could go if you would let me."

Fabulous.

Letting his head fall back into the delicious pile of pillows he had set up for himself, Okita waved her away.

"Tomorrow, Tokio, I promise I'll think about it tomorrow."

She hovered over him, holding up a threatening pinky finger. "You promise?"

He grinned, hooking his finger onto her own. "I promise."

When the door clicked behind her, Okita groaned as he allowed the gentle embrace of sleep. Things weren't working in his favor today. Keeping his life in New York a secret from his family had been easy enough until his lapse in caution earlier. Then there was the matter of Shousha. Having to tame and entertain a new wife was one thing, but now he was expected to juggle his kid sister as well?

It seemed he didn't have much of a choice.

Challenge accepted.


	5. The Life of a City

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

I also don't own _The Last Five Years_, but I had to mention it because it is the best musical ever written in my opinion. It's pretty elusive, but there is very little spoken parts so buying the soundtrack will give you all the audio you need :D

**The Arrangement - 05**

Okita welcomed the silence of his apartment. The past two weeks had been a whirlwind of emotion from all angles. Even though coming back to New York meant leaving his family and going back to work, it was exactly the vacation he needed. His mother had gotten herself into a frenzy over the wedding and he was absolutely certain if he never saw another piece of gold leaf stationary in his life he would die at peace.

His sisters had each been their own force to be reckoned with. Kin was still bitter and made it known at every chance she got, going so far even as to drag him (much to his horror) to several strip clubs, explaining exasperatedly that _anything_ was better than Yamata spawn.

Mitsu had been cold and biting in her own way. She had retained all of her grace, never losing her temper, but her disapproving looks had not escaped his eyes. He knew that her sudden hardness towards him had nothing to do with his engagement, but the weapons he kept. She was worried for him and he appreciated it, but she wasn't blinded by her motherly ways. She was suspicious of him and if he weren't careful, he'd blow his own cover.

Tokio had, if at all possible, been the worst of all. Not only did she share her mother's enthusiasm for the planning process (she had asked him rather desperately to be a member of the wedding party, going so far even as to shop for own dress), but he had been evading her request to return to America with him- something she made a rather annoying point of reminding him of.

Constantly.

Her nagging had gotten so bad that he had, without warning, grabbed her by the ankle, pulled her off the couch, and hauled her along with her brand new nautical wedge heels she was admiring right into their mother's office to put an end to the matter completely.

"_Please_ mama!" she cried, hands clasped together, using her knees to inch her way over to the armchair the woman sat in, "make Soushi take me with him."

Looking rather desperately at her son, she sighed. "I don't understand why you are so adamant about this, Soushi."

To this, he sighed as well. "New York can be a very dangerous place, especially for a young lady. I don't have the time to keep an eye on her."

His mother regarded this, but Tokio dropped her prayerful hands and stood, hands on her hips. "That's not fair to say! You're getting married so why can't I hang out with her when you aren't around?"

Their mother laughed at this and looked to her daughter with a smart twinkle in her eye. "Tokio, dear, I don't think it is fair to your brother to ask to live with him right now. Newlyweds need a great deal of time alone."

Tokio let out a grunt of disgust. Okita flushed. He hadn't considered that.

"Well thank you, _mother_," Tokio drawled, crossing her arms, "for giving me the image of my brother christening every surface of his home."

Okita shrugged. "That's the doing of your own mind. You've always been a pervert."

"I am not a pervert!"

To this, he grinned. "What about all the," he paused, covering the sides of his mouth and dropping his voice to a whisper, "H-E-N-T-A-I."

"Th-that is _not_ mine!" she sputtered, face reddening, but he was already in a fit of laughter.

"It's not!" she protested.

"Oh, that's what they all say," he told her, nodding in mock agreement. "I'm disappointed in your excuse, little sister."

With narrowed eyes, Tokio cleared her throat. She would get him back for that one later. Porn? She'd never even seen one and he knew it. A good friend of hers, however, always seemed to be leaving dirty magazines around.

She was glad to only have one brother because these antics were so commonplace for him that she didn't want to think about multiples.

"Now mama," she said, regaining her composure. "Please tell Sou that I am going to school in New York and he has to take me back with him."

The older woman looked back and forth between both of her children for several minutes before leveling her gaze with them.

"Tokio will go to New York," she said. Okita opened his mouth to protest, but she held her hand up to silence him. "But not until September, when the school year begins."

Flouncing her curls over her shoulder, Tokio looked at her brother triumphantly.

"Furthermore," their mother continued, addressing her son, "She will dorm at the university, giving you and your bride privacy to begin your marriage and also," her face became solemn, "to get to know each other with minimal outside influences. It will be impossible for you to have a solid relationship if you have a roommate."

This was something Okita could accept. If his sister stayed at school, he would be able to ensure her safety. She would be busy with her studies and when time came for them to visit with each other, he would have had enough time to plan accordingly and prepare the appropriate level of protection.

"This is a fair deal," he said, smiling at the series of fist pumps Tokio was displaying, squealing in her victory.

"One last thing." Okita raised an eyebrow at his mother. 'One last thing' was always the 'however' of the movies. The catch.

"What is it?" he asked, trying not to cringe. His mother was a devious woman, something Tokio had picked up almost immediately. Her 'one last thing's were never to be taken lightly.

"You will rent out an apartment in your building for her in the event she finds a boyfriend or needs a change of scenery. It must be on the same floor and not more than three away from your own."

Both Okita and Tokio let their jaws fall slack. He had accepted that he couldn't escape bringing her back to his city, but his neighborhood? His building? His _floor_? He loved his sister more than words could say, and because of that, keeping her at a distance could very well save her life.

It seemed that she shared his sentiment.

"That's a little unnecessary, mama," she was saying, "You said yourself that Sou needs his privacy! I don't want to be his neighbor."

"If you want to go overseas, you will do as I say."

"I can get my _own_ apartment!"

So, the women had begun a rather typical mother-daughter argument that involved a whole lot more whining and foot stamping than Okita wanted to deal with. Quietly and politely, he stole away from the room.

And now he was home, away from it all. Twenty-three stories above the pavement in a posh two bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. It was peaceful here and he had time to think about his own matters, about the one thing that had been lacking those two weeks in Tokyo.

His fiancee.

As he stepped out onto his spacious patio, he welcomed the warm breeze of the summer evening. With all the insanity that had been thrown at him, the only bit of it that he had wanted at all was _her._ Shousha had intrigued him, giving him a small taste of herself and he found himself craving. He wanted to know more about why she was who she was, how she ended up where she was. More importantly, because it was his nature, he wanted to fix her.

But she was nowhere to be found.

He had acquired her cell phone number, e-mail, and address, but each avenue had been a dead end. Her phone had been disconnected, she hadn't replied to any of his e-mails (he had only sent a couple; he didn't want to be overbearing), and when he had arrived on the doorstep of her apartment, the magazines piled up at the door suggested she hadn't been there in quite some time.

He wasn't about to knock on _Katsura's_ door.

So he had given up. They would have a lifetime together; he could afford to give her some space now. Judging by her reaction to the news, the adjusting period would be long and difficult, something that Okita was more than willing to deal with. In fact, he welcomed this challenge. He didn't have to concern himself with hiding his work from her; she would be too caught up in her fury and too ignorant to the way he lived his life to even question his behavior.

It wasn't ideal, sharing his space and his life with another person at such close range, but as he turned and leaned up against the brick wall, he watched his empty apartment do nothing at all, as it always had. For two years nothing had surprised him, pleasantly or otherwise, and nothing changed.

As he regarded the stillness of his solitary dwelling, he frowned. There was nothing unexpected here. The maid came every day, wiping out any trace of his sense of _living_. He decorated mildly, not because he wanted to, but because he didn't know how. There were no flowers on his dining room table, no half eaten chocolate cake on the counter. The leather of his couch was perfect, not a single crack or indentation to indicate anyone had ever spent a lazy Sunday on it. Even the other side of his bed was consistently cold and lonely.

It was then that he realized he might have been wrong. Maybe he _did _want someone to share his life with.

xxxx

"This is _amazing_!"

Katsura smiled as he watched Shousha spin around the loft with her arms outstretched. It was only the first space they had visited for potential galleries, but he knew that it would be the last. The old mill was the perfect scene for her work and it was close enough to other cultured buildings that they shouldn't have much of an issue getting attention.

"We'll take it," he said to the landlord, who had been watching Shousha wearily as she flitted about, speaking a mile a minute in her native tongue. He was no good with foreigners and their broken English, so Katsura's fluid speech, even with it's moderate accent, had set him at ease.

"I'll give you my fax-"

"No need," Katsura said smoothly, pulling a pen from his breast pocket and clicking it open, "We'll sign right now."

"O-of course," the man said, fumbling with the portfolio in his hand before pulling out the lease agreement. Within minutes the contract was signed, and three months rent paid in advance.

Three months. That was all they had.

Back at their apartment, a space that was very much like the one Katsura kept in Tokyo, Shousha was dancing on the couch.

"We did it! We did it!" she was singing, swinging her hips and waving her arms around to a tune somewhere in her head.

Katsura bent over to pick up her purse and tucked it in it's place on the counter between the mail organizer and the toaster oven. He would miss that: picking up after her. As much as he enjoyed cleanliness and everything having it's own space and being there, he also very much enjoyed _putting_ everything where it belonged.

"Oh Kogoro!" she sighed, flopping down onto the leather, "we should have done this_ months _ago."

"You like New York that much?" he asked, donning his readers and settling into a chair at the counter.

Shousha ran her fingers through the fringe on her forehead, giving her scalp a little scratch. "New York is like any other city except far away."

There was a knock on the door and setting his monthly ledger aside, Katsura stood to answer it. A man stood there, but only for a second before strolling inside, not waiting to be invited in. He was shorter than Katsura but of similar build. His thin black hair had been tied at the nape of his neck and neither his mustache nor his incredibly dated Hawaiian shirt were very flattering.

"Iizuka," Katsura said with a hint of annoyance, "You remember Shousha."

Shousha sat up and gave him a short, half smile. She had met this man once or twice. From what she knew he lived here, but had visited Kogoro a few times. He gave her the creeps and it was quite obvious that as close as he thought he was with the refined man at the counter, Katsura wasn't entirely trusting of him.

Iizuka gave her a lingering once over before replying. "How could I forget such a jewel?"

Ta-chan rose from his nap in front of the air conditioner and Iizuka jumped. Katsura didn't seem to notice and he took the harness and leash from their magnetic hook on the side of the refrigerator.

"Honey why don't you take the dog for a walk? Iizuka and I have some business to discuss."

Shousha was more than willing to agree. Iizuka's stare was filthy and made her uncomfortable. He didn't seem to have much regard for other men's women and Katsura was too passive to say anything in her presence. Once Ta-chan was harnessed, she grabbed a granola bar from the cabinet and headed outside.

"Such an obedient girl," Iizuka mused, "does whatever you tell her to do, doesn't she?"

"Obedient?" Katsura found humor in this as he gently pushed the cabinet door closed. "Have you met my girlfriend?"

Iizuka shrugged, leaning up against the counter and crossing his ankles. "You seem to have tamed her."

"I've done no such thing. Shousha will always do as she pleases."

"She always comes back though, doesn't she?"

Unsure of where his friend (though that was a term that depended on the day) was taking the conversation, Katsura went back to his ledger. "I am her home."

"You're her dad."

"That's disgusting," he murmured.

Iizuka gave him a pointed look. "Don't tell me you never think it's like boning your daughter."

Removing his glasses and setting down his pen, Katsura jabbed a finger in the other man's direction, narrowing his eyes. "There is a fine line between immoral and illegal, Iizuka, and you just crossed it."

He let his shoulders drop slightly and he stood. "Besides," he added, "given the chance, you'd have her in your bed too."

"In an instant!" Iizuka laughed, "but the difference between you and me is that nobody looks at me and thinks," he paused, motioning to Katsura's perfect posture with his hands, "_daddy._"

Katsura turned away from him, heading into the living room. _No,_ he thought_, you're much more like the creepy uncle._

xxxx

Shousha allowed Ta-chan to lead her down the busy streets of the city. It was sunny today and hotter than she would have liked, but there was a nice steady wind sweeping through the air that made the temperature bearable.

There were so many things that she wanted to do and to see, it was difficult to decide. In her bag at home were two tickets to a Broadway showing of _The Last Five Years_. Kogoro had pointed out that it was a musical and she wouldn't be able to understand most of it, but upon her insisting that she absolutely _had_ to see a Broadway show, had bought her tickets anyway.

She had an ongoing list of restaurants she wanted to try, as well as a shopping spree in the works, but her goal today was a steadily growing part of the Upper East Side called 'New Mibu' by Kogoro. Apparently a Japanese bank had opened up there and because of its success, other businesses from the homeland had started popping up, moving up from Chinatown.

Shousha was glad for this, as the subway system here confused her and she was unable to hail a cab so the chances of her ever visiting the Lower East Side were slim to none.

It was a bit of a hike to this New Mibu from her home in Midtown, especially as it was a Monday afternoon and the business folk were bustling here and there with their iced lattes and leather briefcases. No one knew her here and they were not too keen on her clear lack of understanding that they needed to _be somewhere_.

She cursed under her breath as someone huffed at her, nudging Ta-chan out of the way with his thigh. This city was exciting, vibrant, and fun, but the people were nasty.

Finally escaping the chaos of the workday, Shousha decided to cut through Central Park. She had just about had it with the streets. Not knowing her way through, she backtracked several times. Generally she had an amazing sense of direction, but given the fact that there was nothing familiar to go on, and the stars were far from waking up, she decided to ask someone for directions.

The poor mother with two toddlers hanging on her legs just shook her head at Shousha.

"I can't understand you," she said, eyeing Ta-chan. "Noomeboo?"

"New Mibu," Shousha tried again. This was the fourth person she had asked and nobody seemed to know what or where New Mibu was.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, "I've never heard of it."

"Upper East Side," Shousha pressed. The woman squinted her eyes in thought for a moment, trying to decipher what she had just said. When Shousha had told Katsura her English was good enough, she had lied. English frustrated her and she was content to do without it.

"_Oh!_" The woman said after a moment, "The Upper East Side! You should have said so!"

Shousha forced out a smile, not having understood anything she had just heard, but nodded in thanks when the woman pointed her towards, well, the East.

After emerging from the maze that was Central Park, she found what she was looking for.

Mibu Financial.

As she stood on the sidewalk she found herself rooted in her spot. It was _huge_. At least fifty steps led to the giant columned overhang of the building and there was no way it was any less than ten stories tall. Designed to combine the style of a traditional American courthouse and a Tokyo skyscraper, this bank was the strangest looking piece of work she had ever laid eyes on. Still, it was amazing.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

She snapped out of her daze and looked to her right at the man who had come up beside her. He was tall, taller than Katsura, and lanky and with a much more casual and relaxed pose. His hair, black, was tied up high, but his bangs had joined themselves together in what seemed like a series of punkish feathery spikes.

"It's so big," She said.

He grinned, turning to her. "You're new here, aren't you?"

Absently she was petting Ta-chan's ears. "How can you tell?"

He scuffed his shoe against the ground and shrugged. "The only people that stand there and stare are either new to the area or American. Your Japanese is too good to be American."

She snorted. Too good? She hadn't said much.

"Yeah," she said, "I just moved here last week. My boyfriend is an art director and we're about to open up a gallery here."

The man let out a low whistle. "That's pretty fancy stuff. You an artist?"

She nodded. "A painter."

He nodded at this, showing he was listening, but clearly not knowing a thing about art and not wanting to keep the conversation on the topic going for much longer.

"Sanosuke," he said, holding out his hand, "Harada Sanosuke."

She took it with a small giggle, adjusting the leash on her wrist. "Shousha. Yamata Shousha."

"Yamata, huh? Any relation to the big corporation back home?"

Shousha rolled her eyes bitterly. "My parents," she muttered.

Taking the hint that it was a sore subject, Harada pulled out his cellphone. "Hey listen. My break's about over so I've gotta run. Any chance I can get your number?"

Caught off guard, Shousha jumped, then narrowed her eyes. "I told you I came here with-"

"No, no," he said, laughing, "for the gallery. I'd love to come see your stuff. I'll bring my friends."

"Oh." Whoops. "Of course."

"Thanks," he said, "I'll give you a call later then."

She smiled, turning away to explore a littler further, "Sure thing. I'll even give you free admission."

"Much appreciated," he told her, "See ya!"

Shoving his hands into his pocket, Harada took the steps languidly, yet still two at a time, satisfied grin on his face. That had to be a personal record. Introduction to phone number in less than two minutes, no booze required.

"_Late_, Harada," said a stony man at the head of the conference room table as he strolled in.

Another man flicked his eyes towards him, this one sporting slicked back hair and dangerously narrow golden eyes.

"Look at that shit eating grin," he muttered.

Harada plopped himself down in his chair, giving it a twirl before throwing his feet up onto the table. Okita sat across from him, laughing.

"But he wouldn't be Harada-san without it, Saitou-san," he said, giving the bitter man a small waggling finger.

"I met a girl," Harada announced.

The man at the head of the table, one Hijikata Toshizo, flipped through some paperwork. "To the surprise of no one," he commented.

"Got her number too," he went on, waving his phone in the air.

Saitou folded his hands on the table, resting his chin on them. "Personal business of yours has nothing to do with this meeting. Leave matters of your women at home."

To this Harada clicked through his phone, bringing up the contact information. "I beg to differ, Saitou."

Okita looked to him and raised an eyebrow. Returning the eye contact, Harada set the phone down, screen up on the table.

"She's not my woman," he said, giving the phone a small push and sending it sliding across the table towards Okita.

Okita caught it and when his eyes widened at the name and numbers on the screen, Harada grinned.

"She's yours."

xxxx

**Author's Note:** Enter the Shinsengumi! :D :D :D


	6. The Business of a Clan

**Author's Note:** Where is this wave of inspiration coming from? I have no clue, but for those of you keeping tabs on both of these fics, I am giving credit to you. My heart soars when I check my story stats and see the amount of readers I am getting. Thank you so much!

My dear anonymous reviewer, 'reader', your reviews are a big driving force of mine. I love to know the thoughts a chapter has evoked, so thank you so much for taking the time to give me such detailed reviews every time! :D :D

I also upped this to M for a rather sensitive issue.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

Also, I have no idea how mafias work, so just sort of roll with me on this one.

**The Arrangement - 06 **

Okita stared at the phone in his hands, unable to gather his thoughts. She was _here_?

"Where did you get this?" he asked, eyes tracing each number as if to memorize them. There was no doubt about it. The area code said it all. She had terminated her phone plan in Tokyo and opened a new one in the States. He wondered if she had changed her e-mail address as well.

"Outside," Harada replied casually, "she was just standing there gawking at us. You can probably still catch her if you want."

Hijikata sat back in his chair. "The bride is in the city? What on Earth is she doing here?"

The spiky haired man reached over to pull his phone away from the stunned Okita across the table. "She said she was here with her boyfriend."

Saitou frowned. "Why would you let her continue to date?"

Okita laughed nervously, "I haven't been able to get in touch with her, Saitou-san. You know that. Besides, short of keeping her under lock and key, I don't see how I would be able to stop her."

Hijikata cleared his throat as another man, this one much older, with a heavy build, entered the conference room and sat at the other end of the table.

"My apologies for my tardiness," he mumbled, "wife was nagging me about the cat."

Hijikata acknowledged this with a nod. "We have just begun our discussion of Okita's wife-"

"Fiancee," Okita corrected.

"Fiancee," Hijikata amended, "It seems she has made her way into the city and is currently residing in Midtown with Katsura. Any thoughts on this, Kondo-sama?"

Kondo Isami rubbed his chin. "This is rather distressing news." he turned to Okita. "Might I inquire as to why you agreed to such an arrangement? It's not like you."

The short man leaned forward on his elbows eyes shining brightly. "I believe this can benefit us greatly, Kondo-sama. This marriage clears my father's name, ending the Tokyo investigation on the Tokugawa Shogunate entirely. Additionally, we will have our hands on Yamata Corp. Even though most of our business is here, don't you think we could use that to our advantage?"

The older man nodded thoughtfully. These were two very good points. The Tokugawa Shogunate, the biggest and most feared mafia clan in the underworld (save the Yakuza), was crumbling. Katsura Kogoro and his Choshu, a small and insignificant (at the time) band of thugs, had risen up in defiance, demanding a change in the system.

It was funny really, a revolution for the criminal. It seemed that Katsura was tired of power being handed down to those who were born to inherit, instead, thought one should be trained and promoted based on skill, not blood.

But it was more than a petulant power play. While the Tokugawa clan had kept things orderly and traditional, the Choshu disapproved of the monopoly the Shogunate held over the black market. Anything that was moved went through Tokugawa. Anyone, no matter how small their part in society might seem, could somehow be traced back to Tokugawa. Because of this, Katsura was unable to expand his territorial reach.

So he rebelled.

It had been a joke at first, a few pathetic gunfights in the streets of Tokyo. But it seemed that Katsura's ideology appealed to more people than those close to him. The young and the reckless began to follow his lead. The rebels without a cause began to find a reason to fight, each of them hoping to change the system and get their proverbial piece of the pie.

When things began to spiral out of control, Tokugawa moved to New York. The Yakuza would be fine without them. They did occasional dealings with each other, but for the most part, they stayed clear of each other.

The Choshu were getting big, and they were getting loud. If there was one thing the Shogunate didn't want it was bad publicity. Each of the leaders came from well to do families with wives and children. While they themselves may have dealt in the filthy crimes that mafia life begged of them, the lives of their families were strictly guarded.

None so much as that of Okita Katsujiro.

He, like his comrades, had been born into the life and he had no complaint. His family was well taken care of because of it. But at the same time, his family was forever on the brink of complete ruin. When the clan had moved their business to foreign shores, no greater weight could have been taken from his shoulders.

Despite their relocation, however, the Choshu didn't play fair. Then again, what was fair?

Tipping his hat to a lady passing by, Katsujiro had a small package under his arm, a gift. He had returned to Tokyo and had been there for quite some time. He had the joy of watching his only son graduate from college, having doubled majored in both business and finance and still coming out of school after only four years, top of his class, no less.

The gift under his arm, a brilliant gold fountain pen with diamond accents, had his son's name engraved in it, the Kanji wrapping around the top and the letters, carved in the most magnificent script down the length of it, was meant to be Soushi's initiation into adulthood.

"Take this, Soushi," he would say, "and live your life as a good man. Build your bank and care for those around you. Honor me this way."

He never did get to explain his gift to his son. As soon as his driver had opened the door of his car, he was gunned down, left with six bullet holes in his chest laying on the sidewalk of Tokyo's shopping district.

Tokugawa had caught the assassin, a sloppy seventeen year old kid with a grudge against authority, and cleaned up the story rather well, but apparently not well enough.

It was after Katsujiro's death that things began to fall apart quickly. Katsura's men were becoming more skillful, and the Tokugawa were growing old.

With his pen close to his heart in the inside breast pocket of his blazer, Soushi had gone to New York where he met with Kondo and Hijikata, both descendants of the Shogunate. At a relatively young age he had discovered his father's secret and away from the women of the house, he had trained to succeed his beloved parent.

They had been joined shortly by Harada Sanosuke and Satiou Hajime, college friends of Shoushi's, and strong supporters of his father's clan. Together with some of the younger clan members, they had formed their own force, a mafia family separate from Tokugawa, but standing to defend its territory, history, and what remained of its members.

The Shinsengumi.

Not wanting any family to suffer the ways his had, Okita vowed to give his life to the cause, building Mibu Financial as a solid cover for their activity. It had become far more of a success than he had anticipated and as more and more Japanese came over to America, he found a genuine satisfaction in helping them adjust to life in a different country.

Each of them had their job at the bank, and they worked much like anyone else. The employees had all been carefully chosen, most of them family or close friends that knew of the ongoing war between them and the Choshu. Only the customers that came through making deposits and arranging meetings for financial planning went unaware of the bank's true nature.

"So uh, you're really gonna marry this chick?"

Attention was turned once again to Harada who was spinning a coin on the table, cursing each time it fell over.

Okita laughed at him. "Of course I am."

"The union would be beneficial," Kondo agreed, "though my main concern, as I'm sure is the concern of all of us, is her relationship to Katsura."

Hijikata folded his hands together, leaning forward and looking down his nose at Okita.

"We can not trust her. Has she given any indication that she is involved with the Choshu in any way?"

Saitou snorted. "Other than the obvious."

"No," replied Okita, "From what I have observed, she is much too concerned with destroying Yamata Corp. Nothing she said or did made me think she might have been lying or hiding something.

"Besides," he went on, "Katsura may have his head filled with ridiculous notions, but we all know he is not stupid. Shousha is far too unpredictable and fickle to be trusted with any sort of information regarding underground activity. She is incredibly spiteful and having lived with her for so long, I'm sure he knows this more than anyone. I bet she would use anything she had against him if she felt wounded enough to do so."

"So she's immature."

Okita looked to Saitou who had reclined in his seat, crossing his arms.

"You could say that, Saitou-san, yes."

Harada was leaning forward eagerly, squinting his eyes at the man across the table. "But I mean, you're really gonna _marry_ her?"

"Yes, Harada-san, for the last time. I do intend to take her as my wife."

Harada sat back, mimicking Saitou's pose. Seeing this, the other man changed position.

"Yeah but, dude. Do you really want to go there? Choshu's laid their claim if you know what I mean."

A deep blush erupted on Okita's cheeks then and he fumbled with his pen, "Harada-san, really!"

"No, no," came the calm voice of Hijikata, who normally kept himself far away from lewd discussions, seeing them as childish and inappropriate, "Sanosuke has a point."

Okita's jaw dropped and Harada tossed a crumpled up piece of paper at him, frowning slightly when he missed his gaping mouth.

"So you're totally okay with Katsura's sloppy seconds?"

"Sloppy- wha-" he rose, one hand planted firmly on the wood and the other pointing accusingly at his rogue friend. "What are you, twelve?"

This only earned him a playful grin. "I only act as old as you look, Sou-kun."

Narrowing his eyes, Okita sat back into his chair slowly.

"Touche, my friend."

Kondo cleared his throat and directed everyone's attention to Hijikata who was holding up a tiny ledger.

"Now that we have some clarification on the issue of Yamata Shousha, might I remind you all that it is Monday?"

Harada groaned, letting his head fall back. Mondays. Body count.

As all of the money made by Mibu Financial (after taxes and employee wages of course) went directly to Tokugawa and their families, the group of executives had taken to hiring themselves out as assassins not only to earn a little bit of extra money (not that their own wages were anything less than comfortable to say the least) but to keep their skills sharp.

The Choshu were forever surprising them with new tactics and while Okita was the best shot anyone of Tokugawa or the Shinsengumi had seen, surpassing even his father in his skill, stealth, and agility, even he was just a human wielding pistols. Freelancing was a time for them to test out and perfect new techniques without the pressure of battle, yet still in an active situation.

Hijikata had grown rather fond of keeping track of all these jobs, taking note of every detail and on Mondays, tallying up their kills from the previous week.

Harada had a habit of _not_ keeping track.

"Kondo-sama?"

Kondo waved his hand. "Took the week off for the missus."

"Sanosuke."

"Eh... five? Or six. Nah, probably five."

Hijikata mumbled something inaudible before continuing down his list.

"Saitou?"

"Nine."

"Kanryuusai?"

"Three."

"Okita?"

"Thirty-seven."

Hijikata's pen halted and all eyes turned to their small comrade.

"Excuse me?"

"Thirty-seven," he repeated, shrugging with a grin, "I had a good week."

"Christ, Okita," Harada breathed. "You homicidal maniac."

Kondo looked at him with laughter in his eyes. "Can that be classified as genocide?"

Saitou too seemed disturbed by this. "You killed thirty-seven men in one week?"

"I wouldn't lie to you," he laughed, spinning the chair slightly as he kicked his feet under the table. "I got eighteen or so in one job. There was a drug lord who didn't seem to like the way his guys were sneaking deals behind his back."

"But that still leaves nineteen more!" Harada cried, "did you sleep at all this week?"

"Not really," he admitted, "I've had a lot to think about; not to mention I took two weeks off. I needed my fix."

His fix. He pondered this after he had said it. Yes, killing had become a drug of sorts. He had been fourteen when he had taken his first life and it had been exhilarating. It wasn't murder that he found to be so pleasing, but knowing that he was protecting someone, fighting for something.

The first man he had killed had deserved it more than any thus far. Tokio's father. That filthy monster of a man with his hands in places no hands should ever be on a child.

Okita hadn't intended to kill him, not at first.

_Stay in the car_, his father had told him as they arrived at the apartment building in the slums of the city. He did as he was told, but soon grew bored of waiting. He had taken to exploring the different compartments of the car and when he flipped a switch that he had assumed to control the lighting, something fell onto his head.

A gun.

He had been shocked at first, but when he heard the agonizing cry come from inside the building, he gripped it tightly. Was his father in trouble? In his first act of blatant disobedience, he snuck from the car and hurried up the steps, looking for the door his father had disappeared behind.

He remembered the scene so vividly. There was a man, a little girl, and his father. Katsujiro stood off to the side, so strong and sure, pistol aimed directly at the man's heart.

"Release her," he was saying in his calm and authoritative voice.

The man, who had a little girl, a tiny little wisp of a thing, half starved and wide eyed, sneered back at him.

"Whataya gonna do, Okita? Eh? Kill me? Do it. I dare ya."

Katsujiro was hesitating. He was an excellent shot, but he wouldn't put it past this slimeball to use the girl as a shield. Soushi hung crouched by the door, unnoticed by the other occupants of the room. He didn't have any idea as to what was going on, but he was sure his father was doing good.

"You've owed us money for quite some time, Takagi."

The man laughed at him, snaking his hand around the girl's neck. "I'm telling you, go ahead and kill me. You ain't never gettin' your money."

Soushi looked to his father. Why wasn't he moving? The little girl began to squirm and he slapped her.

"You behave when daddy has guests!" he snapped. "Or do I have to punish you again?"

That was when it happened. Okita had never thought or moved so quickly before that moment. As the man's hands shot up the little girl's dress and into her underwear, he snapped up, raised his arm, and fired. He didn't see the bullet fly through the air, but as it embedded itself in Takagi's skull, he dropped to the ground and the little girl crawled away.

Maybe he should have been traumatized, maybe he should have accepted the therapy that his father had offered to send him to, but he couldn't find it in him. As they drove away from the scene, the little girl had curled up on his lap and was sound asleep. Instead of regret or fear, he felt a sense of absolute satisfaction in knowing that whoever this child was, she would never again have to suffer at the hands of such a beast.

His father had explained everything to him that night and without hesitation, Okita had expressed his desire to undergo training in firearms. He wanted to know, to understand how they worked. He needed to be strong. He needed to protect.

It was true that his hero complex had, over the years, turned into something darker, a desire, a _need_ to hunt and to kill, but that came with the territory. Whenever he doubted himself, he went home. All he needed was to see Tokio's face. That dirty little girl in the slums of Tokyo had shed her past and grown into a radiant young woman.

If that wasn't proof that what he was doing was good, he didn't know what was.

xxxx

**Author's Note:** I was going to make this chapter longer, but I think that even though it's shorter, It's pretty stuffed with information so I didn't want any overkill. I hope I did an okay job translating time periods.

I also feel like a jerk for turning Tokio's father into such an ass. :( I do have to say though, I enjoy writing this version of Okita. As much as I love to torture him, I can only take so much guilt and self loathing from _Changes in Friendship _and this fic gives me a chance to exercise different aspects of his persona.

Phew. Two chapters in one day and it isn't even 2am. (so I guess that makes it two days then) I feel like a machine.


	7. The Wrath of an Artist

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Author's Note:** This chapter is me being a jerk and saying, "what if we put X in a room with Y. What would happen?" Turns out, I wish they were in the same room more often.

**The Arrangement - 07**

Shousha laced her fingers together and raised her arms above her head, stretching the muscles left sore by hours of hanging paintings all week. This was the night she had been waiting for since her first foundation class.

Opening night.

She had shed her usual uniform of oversized sweaters and paint stained capri pants for a more chic look: a simple black a-line dress with a white peter pan collar and a single strand of pearls. She had desperately wanted to add a pillbox hat to this vintage inspired outfit, but Kogoro had gently reminded her that she was an artist, not a flight attendant.

When the doors opened, Shousha was surprised at how many people graced the loft with their presence. It had been, of course, entirely Kogoro's doing. His contacts in the art world never seemed to end and even if her work was just slightly above that of a student, he still managed to coax several well known professors into the gallery.

She spent the first two hours of the show chatting with various people, most of them older and unfortunately for her, American. (Katsura had become resident translator at this point) Most of them had been very pleasant, boosting her confidence considerably.

When nine o'clock rolled by, she excused herself, needing to catch some air. Stepping out onto the patio where refreshments were being served for the party, she exhaled happily. Everything was going according to plan.

It had been almost two months and there had been no word from Tokyo. Her parents were leaving her alone. She had, of course, deleted all trace of her existence from the earth; Katsura had even seen to it that any record of her leaving the country had been erased. She had found it curious than an art director had the power to do that, but her surprise was fleeting. He always did seem to know a guy.

"Life is perfect," she said, gripping the rail and staring out into the city, "really perfect."

When she re-entered the gallery, there was a man staring at one of her paintings intently and her face began to warm. She hadn't wanted to put that one in, but as usual, she had done as Kogoro suggested.

She came up beside the man, tall, and slender, yet with a decided coldness in his eyes. He stared ahead at the piece and sending chills up her spine, addressed her simply.

"You are the artist?"

Oh thank goodness. He spoke Japanese.

"I am," she replied timidly.

He turned to her then and though he wasn't frowning, there was something disapproving in his stare.

"You do not seem confident in your work, Yamata-san."

Taken slightly aback, she cleared her throat. "I am confident," she said, watching her tone and being careful not to sound as offended as she was.

"I like this one," he said, ignoring her attempt to reassure herself. "It's expressive."

She laughed nervously. "It almost didn't make it into the show. It's a reject, really."

"Reject."

It was amazing how cutting this man could be without using any sort of emotion at all. The way he said _reject_ as if he couldn't believe an artist would ever admit they could have failures, as if she wasn't a real artist.

"I'd like to know why you consider this piece to be a failure," he told her, still remaining focused on the oil and canvas before him.

Shousha enjoyed foliage. All of her paintings were beautiful renditions of trees, the gallery displaying a panoramic view of the life and death of a single tree from sapling to rotting log and every stage and season in between.

This particular painting however, was displayed casually on one of the brick columns that was supporting the roof. It was an afterthought, something that she had been taught never to show.

_If something looks like an afterthought, it will be perceived as such. _

Well no kidding.

She did understand that whether a decision she made was impulsive or not, she had a duty to trick the viewer into thinking she knew what she was doing.

She sighed. "I was angry."

And she had been.

He looked at her, giving her a momentary thought. "I like to educate myself on the history behind a piece if the information if available. I should like to know the whole story, if you don't mind."

Resisting the urge to narrow her eyes, she forced out a smile. "Ah, well, it's personal."

He nodded. "Very well. Might I leave the check with the secretary?"

Shousha took a couple steps back, dumbfounded. "The check, sir?"

"Yes," he said impatiently, "the check. I will leave an address to have the piece shipped to me once the showing is over."

Her mouth began to open and close like a fish out of water, unable to come up with anything to say. There was no price on this painting as she wanted nothing more than to toss it into the dumpster, and she really _wasn't_ confident in her work at all. To hear that someone wanted to _purchase_ something had her at a complete loss for words.

Katsura appeared by her side then, and he put a strong hand on her shoulder.

"Leave her alone, Hijikata," he said in English, his tone cold and threatening, "she is not Choshu."

Shousha looked up at him. "Choshu?"

Choshu? She dug through her head to think of what that could have meant, but the only English word she could connect the sounds with was 'shoe' and she didn't think he had mentioned anything about her shoes.

Had he? She looked down.

"I was simply complimenting her on her work," Hijikata replied cooly, "You forget that some of us here were born into cultured families."

Katsura bristled at the snide mention of his middle-class upbringing in comparison to Hijikata's own privileged life.

"I didn't realize that hard work made one less of a man," he replied, lifting his chin and gently ushering Shousha behind him.

"Oh not at all. I too believe in hard work. You may ask any of my men. Or you may ask your own," He flicked a bored gaze to Shousha who was peeking out from around Katsura's arm, "except dead men can't talk."

With a curious expression, Shousha looked between the two men. She had no idea what they were saying, but it sounded nasty. Whoever this man was, this Hijikata, he had offended Kogoro a great deal and that left an unsettling feeling in her stomach. She had never known him to be offended before.

"Hey missy!"

The slightly familiar voice caused her to turn around and she was greeted by Harada who, as promised, brought his friends. There were two women on his arm, and a man standing next to him who looked as if he would rather be anywhere else. He was taller than Harada and much more angular and serious.

She noticed that they wore the same shirt, a brilliant turquoise with white collar and cuffs, under their black sports jackets. It didn't take her long to realize that the same colors were under Hijikata's coat as well.

Because men didn't do such things, she ruled out matching on purpose and because it was unlikely that three men in the exact same place were wearing the same exact shirt at the same exact time (especially considering she had never before seen such an article of clothing), she decided that it must have been a work thing. She knew Harada worked for Mibu Financial and both of the stoic men currently within her boundaries looked as if they were also the type to be dealing with money, it seemed to be a fine conclusion to reach.

She smiled at him and he gave her a high five. "I don't know a thing about art, but this is a pretty cool setup you've got here."

Laughing, she looked around. "I couldn't have done it without Kogoro," she said, pulling on Katsura's arm and diverting his attention away from Hijikata, "he really does know everyone."

For a second, the same look that Hijikata bore flashed over Harada's face, but in keeping with the festivities, he nodded to his enemy politely. Shousha clearly had no idea what was going on between them. He wasn't going to ruin the girl's night for something they could settle later.

Saitou refused to acknowledge anyone at all.

Another body came jogging up to their group then, thought Shousha didn't notice, too busy trying to pry the juicy details from Katsura of his conversation with Hijikata.

"It's nothing," he said sweetly, "we simply have our differences."

She knew he was lying and that hurt her. He never lied to her.

"Please tell me," she begged, tugging on his arm like a six year old, "I don't want you to be upset. It's our night."

He smiled at her, but as he was about to give her a playful reprimanding, he was interrupted by an all-too-familiar voice.

"Your work is very good."

Even though she had only heard it once, she knew exactly who it belonged to and her stomach dropped. Her heart pounded and the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. There was a coldness that settled into her bones and despite his cheeriness and gentility, Shousha felt as if he were strangling her.

_Why was he here_?

She turned slowly, doing her best to keep her smile on, but as soon as she laid eyes on him, it failed completely.

Okita however, seemed extremely happy to see her, especially in his lovely Mibu Financial attire. Damn him. Damn all of them.

"What are you doing?" she breathed angrily. She couldn't help it. She was supposed to be pleasant and controlled, as acting professional was key to getting future showings, but with him here, she couldn't help herself. She had come to New York to get away from him, yet here he was.

"What am I doing?" he asked, genuinely surprised. "I am admiring artwork."

"You know that's not what I mean," she ground out.

"Oh," he said, laughing and giving her an annoyingly shiny grin, "I live here."

Seething, Shousha balled her hand into shaking fists. One punch. That's all she needed. If she could just knock one of his teeth out, she would be happy for a couple minutes.

"Hey missy, you alright?"

Furious, she jerked her head in Harada's direction. "You," she snapped, jabbing a finger at his chest, "You knew? You knew all along?"

He gave her an apologetic look. "Bros before hos?" he offered, making a move to dodge her fist, but Katsura caught her arm first.

"I do believe we have somewhere to be now that the night is winding down," he said, forcing her arm to her side, "We thank you all for your attendance."

"Yes," Saitou drawled in his native tongue, not bothering to shield the conversation from Shousha's ears, "run away, Katsura. As you always do."

Not bothering to dignify the wolf with a response, Katsura steered Shousha from the loft.

Okita watched them go, disappointed that he hadn't been able to speak with her all that much, but at least he knew she was here. He had her phone number and the address of her gallery. It was all the information he would need to make a proper meeting with her.

"I think I'll leave a check with the secretary," he said, looking around, "I like these paintings very much."

His eyes fell on the painting on the column they were gathered around and he put a thoughtful finger to his lips.

"Except this one. I believe another gentleman has laid his claim on this one."

"It is her wrath," Hijikata said calmly. "She is a very forceful young woman."

Okita tilted his head. "What's her wrath?"

"The painting; it's the only one worth a damn. The only one she put any emotion into. That emotion was wrath."

And it was.

What had started out as a soft scene of a gentle oak bending to the will of a calm summer breeze had become what might have been considered a disaster to the untrained eye. Hijikata, however, was quite fond of art and he had spent much of his time researching and collecting it. He enjoyed gathering the full meaning of a piece prior to his purchase and with that knowledge, found himself able to feel what the artist had been feeling at the moment of creation.

When he stared at this damaged oak, he could feel it, and he could see it. She had stormed into her studio, desperate to destroy something. There stood the oak, not quite right in its composition and absolutely frustrating. This must have only escalated her anger and without a second thought, she had dug her nails into the oil, raking her fingers across the canvas before flinging it into the nearest corner.

Hijikata smiled. She had no control over her life and as it seemed, even less control over her own emotions. If what this painting was telling him was accurate, she might just prove to be useful after all.

xxxx

**Author's Note:** Ugh! Two short chapters in a row! I'll make up for it with the next one as there's going to be a whole lot of ._. and ;_; and -_-;. And because Okita is our hero, you know there's gonna be plenty :D and well, no one really knows what Shousha is going to display.

It's late. I'm being silly. =P

See you next time!


	8. The Honesty of an Abduction

**Disclaimer:**I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 08**

Descending the steps of the large brick building where her loft gallery was located, Shousha pulled her cardigan from the canvas tote on her shoulder. August was ending and the evenings were steadily becoming chilly.

The showing was nearly over and she had begun to prepare the place for disassembly. After all, she had to ship each and every one of the paintings to Mibu Financial. What a horror that had been the next morning when the secretary had called her to say that an Okita Soushi had bought the entire series.

Not wanting his charity, she had cashed the check, and in a rather unpleasant show, dumped the money onto the front desk._ Do whatever you want with it_, she had told the girl at the counter. The receptionist, of course, had promptly fainted.

Though the showing had gone moderately well, her relationship with Katsura had become significantly strained. No matter her approach, he refused to give her any information on his dispute with Hijikata. It wasn't that Shousha was so desperate for gossip, but she _knew _he was purposely keeping something from her and that angered her.

He started staying out later, coming home without an apology or reason. She stopped pressing, hoping to draw him back, but it only seemed to keep him further at bay. They stopped going to dinners and parties; there were no random mugs of hot cocoa on the couch. He even stopped calling her 'honey'.

He wasn't angry with her, this she knew. He was being cautious. She had seen a glimpse of a side that he possessed and had kept well hidden for as long as he had known her. But _why _had he kept a part of him secret?

As she walked down the street, her heart sank. As she pondered her crumbling relationship, she realized that she didn't actually know him at all. Despite being with him for so long, she knew not a single thing about him that made a difference. The vacations, the lazy days, and even the long nights of endless conversation had left her with nothing.

In the end, she was just living in the mighty shadow of mystery that was Katsura Kogoro.

He had been so careful and calculating, making sure to keep her closely at a distance. Still, Shousha couldn't find it in her to hate him for it. She had grown too attached to him. No, attached wasn't the word. She had become _dependent_ on him. The world might have viewed her as an heiress out of control, but it wasn't so. She was very controlled. Even in her supposed freedom, there was still someone pulling her strings.

A car pulled up to the curb then and she halted as the driver cleared his throat at her.

"Yamata Shousha?"

She looked up at the old man, frowning at the loss of concentration.

He smiled at her, coming around the car and opening the door for her. "Please. My master wishes for you to ride safely."

Surprised, she looked towards the vehicle. After weeks of tension, he was still concerned about her walking around by herself.

"It's alright," she said, "I like to walk."

"He wishes to apologize, miss. Please, allow me to drive you."

Apologize. It was something Katsura had never done. Then again, he never had reason to. He had always been perfect.

Not able to push down the butterflies in her stomach, she climbed into the car. If he were going to apologize, they would be able to climb out of the awkward hole they had fallen into. Or rather, she would be able to. She doubted he was nearly as affected by this as he was.

The car traveled down the streets and she realized they were not headed home. Did he send a car for her to bring her somewhere special?

They passed Mibu Financial and she chuckled to herself, spirit rising. If she had known, she would have piled all the canvases into the car with her and delivered them herself.

When the car stopped they were parked outside a magnificent apartment building and when the driver made no move to let her out, she made a quick sweep of the property, admired it, then shoved her chin into her hand and looked the opposite way. If he wanted to apologize, fine, but she wasn't going to make it easy for him.

The door opened and he slid in.

"I'm so glad you came," he said cheerfully.

Shousha's lip curled. "You are a horrid puppet master of a man," she told him slowly, lost in thought, one half a daydream of all the things she wanted to really say and the other, all of the ways he could apologize to her.

He laughed. She turned.

The scream that burst from her mouth caused the driver to swerve nervously. Her fright was quickly replaced with anger, however, and she seethed at the man sitting next to her. Too caught up in her head, she had heard the words he spoke, but had not noticed his voice. She had been expecting Kogoro. She heard Kogoro.

Okita was most certainly _not_ Kogoro.

He looked around nervously. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"Yes," she snapped. "I was."

Smiling reassuringly, he reached out to pat her hand, not the slightest bit affected when she pulled away.

"Still, I really am glad you came."

"You _are _a horrid puppet master of a man. Let me out."

"I can't do that," he told her, pointing out the window, "we're driving."

"You're kidnapping me," she said flatly. "You're freaking kidnapping me."

To this Okita laughed. What an imagination she had. "I'm not kidnapping you, Shousha. I'm taking you out to dinner."

"Dinner."

"Yes," he said, bending over to retrieve his phone which had slipped from his hands, "we're going on a date."

She stared at him dully.

"And if you refuse," he continued playfully, "I _will_ resort to kidnapping."

She crossed her arms and looked away. "You are unbelievable. A date. You've got some balls to be taking out another man's woman."

"Well technically you are _my_ woman."

Her eyes flashed and she steeled her jaw as she stared him down.

Shit. He hadn't meant to say that, at least not in that way. If he was going to tame this beast, he would really have to practice considering his words before they escaped his mouth.

"I am not going to marry you," she stated.

He sighed. That hadn't won him any points. He had felt alright starting the night off with nothing, but he hadn't been in her presence for more than ten minutes and he had a sinking feeling that it was going to take more than dinner to even claw his way back up to zero.

"I do want to apologize," he said earnestly.

"For what?" she shot back.

He slid over a few inches, invading her personal space just enough for her to be uncomfortable, but not overwhelmed.

"For surprising you at your show. I should have told you."

She looked at him carefully and saw in his eyes that he wasn't lying and he wasn't mocking her. He looked happy, but not satisfied, not smug.

"I just wanted to see you," he finished, giving her a hopeful smile.

Shousha was at a loss for thought and even when the car stopped and they walked into the restaurant, she hadn't any idea how to respond to that. He had wanted to see her. That was all.

He held out her chair for her and she sat, watching him carefully as he took the seat across from her. Smiling, he pushed his menu a few centimeters away from him.

"I come here all the time," he said, hoping generic conversation would ease her towards his efforts.

Shousha looked around. "It's. . .a pizza joint." Not exactly the typical place for society members to be having a date.

Okita scanned her face nervously. "You don't like pizza?"

"No, I do."

They fell silent again and he watched her as emotions came and went, flashing through her eyes and lips, betraying the boredom she was so desperately trying to display. She was fighting something, something that he hoped would break the ice between them.

Unfortunately for the both of them, it wasn't likely.

"Who is Hijikata?" she asked after a while. She had relaxed considerably, realizing that he intended her no harm or humiliation, and decided that she could take the opportunity to get the information she had been unsuccessful in retrieving from Katsura.

Okita's face lit up. "Hijikata-san is the vice president of Mibu Financial. He's a very dear friend of mine, and even more so to Harada-san, who you have met on two occasions."

Shousha sucked in a breath. Vice president? Of a bank?

"Do you know my Kogoro as well?" she asked.

Okita fought back the darkness that threatened to take over his features, opting for a bland smile instead.

"He has made quite a name for himself."

Shousha leaned forward, but drew back, scowling as she set her elbow in a puddle of condensation from her water glass.

"A name for himself?" she echoed, dabbing at the cotton with a handful of napkins.

"Oh yes," Okita replied, "he's worked with many artists across the globe. He's very popular."

Oh. Right.

"Is that how he knows Hijikata?" she questioned, peeling her cardigan from her arms and draping it over the back of her chair.

He shrugged as a lie slipped through his teeth. "I don't know much about him aside from his work in the arts, and even that I don't pay much attention to."

Shousha sat back for a second, but popped back up, remembering something. "What about that other man?" she asked, "he said Kogoro was running away _as usual_."

Okita bit back the truth. It didn't help his situation that Saitou had been so indiscreet about his distaste for the Choshu leader.

"Eh, I'm not sure about that one either," he said, thanking the waitress that set their dinner down before them. "I try to stay away from the serious scary stuff."

"Yeah you seem like a real carefree guy," she muttered, pulling a slice of green pepper and onion pizza from the pie.

To this he beamed through a bite.

"So," Okita said, reaching for his third slice, "have you packed yet?"

Shousha looked up from her phone, having been checking it ever three seconds, desperately awaiting a text from anyone at all.

"Packed?"

He looked at her for a second and furrowed his brows. "For Friday."

The look on her face made him bite his lip. In a mix between anger and disbelief, she stood.

"This Friday? You expect me to get married on _Friday_?"

"What's wrong with Friday?"

She pounded her fist on the table, causing the other patrons to stare. Okita waved his hands at them, smiling and encouraging them to ignore her. It seemed that Shousha had done such an incredible job of convincing herself she wasn't getting married that she hadn't even made herself aware of the date she was avoiding.

How unfortunate for her.

"I told you," she hissed, "I am _not_ going to marry you."

"You don't have a choice," he told her truthfully. "but I really hope we can-"

"Shut up!" she screamed, whipping her sweater from the back of her chair and stuffing it into her bag.

"I'm leaving," she told him, stabbing her finger into his shoulder, "and I never want to see you again."

She stormed away, making sure to throw open the swinging door while Okita was left alone shaking his head. The Americans were all staring at him, unsure of how to respond, but he gave them all a bright smile and shrugged his shoulders.

"My fiancee," he said, "she's unique."

xxxx

Shousha stomped out of the restaurant and slammed her back against the brick of the building. She didn't know where she was and she wasn't in the mood to call and beg Kogoro to save her. She couldn't lie the way he obviously could and she didn't want to have to explain that she had just went to dinner with her-

No, Okita wasn't her fiancee. He wasn't her anything. He was just a stupid little dog who did whatever his family asked of him.

Sighing, she rocked on her heels and looked up at the sky. There were no stars here, just as there were no stars in Tokyo. There was just blinding man made light.

Someone came up next to her and she refused to acknowledge their presence. She could see from the corner of her eyes that it wasn't the man she had just left and that alone gave her no reason to say anything.

She had to at least give him points for not chasing after her. Smart man.

"Please don't be frightened miss."

Before Shousha could respond to such a strange request, her mouth and nose were covered by a sweet smelling cloth and she lost touch with the world around her.

When she came to, two brown eyes were staring down at her with concern. She knew those eyes.

"Are you feeling alright, Shousha?"

Too sluggish to do much else, she groaned and closed her eyes. She could feel that she was laying down, but had no clue as to how she got there. Had she fainted in the restaurant? No, she had left. What had happened after that?

She opened her eyes again and as he strength came back to her, she pushed Okita away from her when he tried to help her up.

"I told you I didn't want to see you again."

Rubbing her eyes, she forced the last bit of drowsiness from her body and looked around. What she saw, however, send a bolt of rage through her body and she stood, backing herself as far away from him as she could.

She was in an airplane.

A private airplane from the looks of it, and Okita was sitting there on the floor she had been sleeping on, as if this were an every day occurrence.

"You- you- you slimy little bastard!" she sputtered, shaking a pointed finger in his direction, "you did kidnap me!"

He stood, dusting of his pants and offering her an apologetic smile. "I told you I would if I had to."

Groping for something to keep her balance, Shousha's eyes widened and her voice began to change tone, indicating her panic.

"What the fuck kind of person are you?" she demanded.

He laughed inwardly. It seemed that by kidnapping her his intentions were dastardly and unforgivable but the truth was, he couldn't think of a single way to get her back to Japan otherwise.

"I am the type of person who wants to marry you," he replied, sitting in one of the cream leather seats that his mother's jet had been fitted with.

"You don't even know me," she said, not believing him, "how can you want to marry me?"

"It's not that I want to marry _you_," he replied. He held back an 'oops' as she started towards him, and he grasped for a correction. "But I also don't want to not marry you."

Did that make sense?

"You just wait until Kogoro gets his hands on you," she seethed, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, "a scrawny sack of shit like you doesn't stand a chance."

Okita frowned slightly. He might not have been living his life by standards of the law, but he thought he was at least a couple notches above 'sack of shit'.

"I'm really not that scrawny," he mused, absently catching her fist as she hurled it at his face. She gasped at his reflex and stared at his slightly amused face, panting.

"Who the hell are you?" she whispered.

There it was again, that animalistic look on her face. Her fear. He didn't enjoy being feared, but even his efforts to be kind and supportive got twisted around by her mind and turned into something horrifying. Had she never received a bit of genuine love at all? Was her life so empty that she couldn't trust anyone but a morally ambiguous art director?

"I am your future," he replied softly, tightening his grip on her fist in a reassuring gesture.

She only shook her head at him, wide eyed and terrified. "I can't deal with this."

Gently, he released her and sat back, showing he meant no further contact.

"We'll be in Tokyo in about ten hours," he said with a small smile, "please enjoy the flight."

xxxx

Katsura headed towards Shousha's apartment with a slightly heavy heart. He had been alerted of her abduction almost immediately and just as quickly hopped onto the next flight to Tokyo. He didn't have to come back, he knew that. He hadn't approved of Okita's approach, but even he knew that underhanded tricks were the only way around her stubbornness.

She was in his care now, even if, for the moment, she was back in her own dwelling. It would have been quite easy for the Choshu leader to stay in Midtown and go on as he had before. For the sake of the both of them, however, he had to end it officially. He needed to let her know that once she was married, she was married.

He wasn't going to come to her rescue anymore.

He couldn't. She had never been Choshu, not really, but once the vows were said, she _would_ be Shinsengumi whether she knew it or not and that was far too much of a conflict of interest for Katsura. He had to wash his hands of her for good.

After the unpleasant night at the gallery, he had begun to distance himself, not for her sake, but for his own. She was dependent on him, it was true, but he was attached to her too. They may not have been in love, but they were quite easily large parts of each other. If he didn't pull himself away slowly it would be much more difficult to hand her over.

Inserting the key into the lock, he sighed. She was going to be happy to see him.

Sure enough, as soon as he stepped across the threshold, she bounded over, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.

"I knew you would come," she sighed, giving him a squeeze. When he didn't return her gesture, however, she looked up timidly. "Kogoro?"

"We need to talk."

The words were hollow and unfeeling, but he couldn't seem to make his voice do anything else. Breakups were never easy and they never went as planned. Breaking up with this woman was going to be like dancing on a minefield.

He saw the color leave her face and he led her into the living room, easing her down onto the couch. He cleared his throat to begin, and she burst into tears.

"Don't believe it!" she said, giving him a shove, "I'm not getting married! Don't believe what they say!"

Katsura handed her a tissue and sighed again, clasping his hands together and resting his forearms on his thighs, staring ahead at the wall of windows.

"Shousha. It's over."

She threw herself onto his back, clinging to his neck and soaking his white dress shirt with the tears that flowed down her cheeks.

"It's not over," she said, "it doesn't have to be over."

Unmoved, he closed his eyes. "You can't run forever."

"We can," she sniffed, "we can go anywhere."

Katsura stood, reluctantly ignoring her as she cried out and clawed for him. "Shousha, wake up. How long do you think I can keep on this way? I'm thirty-seven. _Thirty-seven_ Shousha. I can't continue to play with you. I want a wife. I want kids. All that is being offered to you. Why won't you accept it?"

Silently, she stared at him, shocked.

"Maybe if your situation were different," he said quietly, "maybe then we could have lasted."

Shousha felt her heartbeat racing and her temperature rising. He didn't want her. He wanted someone else, someone who he hadn't even met yet. She had known they weren't meant to be forever, but why then did his desire to be with someone else hurt so much?

He saw her face start to flush and he knew that next she would start to have difficulty breathing, but he couldn't help her. She needed to learn how to deal with these attacks on her own now. She had to grow up and face her fate.

And if he held her again he might not be able to let her go.

"Goodbye, Shousha," he said simply leaving the apartment and closing the door gently behind him. Exhaling forcefully, he gathered his thoughts. It was over. He was done.

As he walked along the hall towards the stairs of the complex, he saw a figure headed his way and he stopped. Okita.

The smaller of the two was nearing, and as Katsura observed the object he was carrying, he noted a giant bouquet of flowers, roses in every color imaginable. The bastard was trying.

When the financial advisor noticed him, he halted and his face darkened considerably.

"Katsura."

But Katsura was in no mood for politics today. Reaching into his pocket, he procured a small bottle of pills and a key, holding them both out to his rival. It wasn't that he wanted to give him any sort of advantage, but without medication and company, Shousha might very well do something drastic.

"She's in rough shape right now," he said as Okita accepted the items. "She'll be difficult to handle, but she's worth it."

Katsura then motioned to the the flowers in his hands. "A peace offering?"

Okita regarded him out of the corner of his eye. "A gift."

The Choshu snorted. "You'll have to try harder than flowers if you want to get anywhere with her."

Okita stiffened, not bothering to reply. His pistols lay gently against his chest, begging him to release them. As Katsura pushed himself off the ledge he had been leaning against, they cried out,_ shoot him! End him here!_, but Okita couldn't do it. Katsura was a clever man and he knew how to play on his enemies strengths and weaknesses, the Shinsengumi in particular.

Because the miburo made a point of fighting their war with the Choshu honorably, Katsura in turn made a point of never being armed. None of the Shinsengumi would take such a cheap shot at a man who didn't stand a chance, and even now, with the strength of the Shogunate right before him, Katsura was confident he would live to see the next day.

And he would.

Okita bristled, watching the pure white shirt walking away from him, his hand itching for the grip of his gun. He hated that white shirt.

Katsura turned, raising his hand slightly in a wave of farewell.

"See you in New York."

xxxx

**Author's Note:** And it seems that we're in pretty much the same place in both fics haha. That wasn't planned, I promise.


	9. The Efforts of a Romantic

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

I also don't own Adrenaline Drive, but if anyone has Netflix, you should check it out. It's pretty funny.

**The Arrangement - 09**

Okita turned the key in the lock on Shousha's apartment door. It swung open with ease and he stepped into the darkness, carefully nudging his black dress shoes from his feet. It was an odd feeling, coming in here with her ex-boyfriend's key. She didn't like him, she certainly was not going to be pleased to see him, yet he had let himself right in.

He could hear her muffled sobs coming from somewhere deeper into the apartment and placed the flowers down gently on the kitchen counter. Flowers could wait. He'd have to dodge her attacks before he could begin presenting her with any sort of gift.

Wandering down the hall, he found the dwelling to be shaped like an 'I'. A large kitchen and dining room greeted him at the entrance, then immediately to the left was a hall with three doors, bedrooms and bathrooms, he assumed, before opening up into a living room that ran the entire length of space.

He stepped cautiously into the well lived in space, glad that the back of the couch faced him. Something seemed awkward about the thought of her watching him enter her home.

And there she was, face shoved into a blanket, crying her eyes out. Mixed in with her sobs was the hitched panting that she had displayed at her parents' house and Okita's hand closed around the bottle of pills Katsura had given him.

"Shousha?"

She looked up at him and her eyes went wide, With slow steps, he came around the sofa, hands up and no expression on his face. He wasn't going to risk her reading him the wrong way.

"W-wh-what are you d-d-doing here?" she asked, scooting back along the distressed leather,

"It's alright," he said calmly. "I have your medicine." He handed the bottle over to her, but as he entered what she had deemed her personal space, she inhaled sharply, smacking the pills out of his hand.

"Get away!"

Okita's eyes darted around the room as he backed away from her. He wasn't sure how to deal with a situation such as this. His life had been spent training himself to not feel fear; he had no experience with soothing it.

"I won't let you take me again!" She cried, pulling the blanket up to her face again.

He stepped forward, halting when her eyes sent sparks of panic. He was about three feet away from her, but it would do. He crouched low, slowly, and rested his hand on the coffee table beside him.

"I'm not here to take you anywhere, Shousha," he told her, watching as she stared him down with puffy eyes.

"What do you want?" she whispered, taking extra caution and tucking her toes under her bottom.

"I just wanted to see you," he replied truthfully. She didn't make a move to respond, so he continued. "I'm not here as your fiancee," he told her, shifting his weight slightly, "I am here to be your friend."

Shousha licked her lips, not tearing her eyes away from the boyish man on her floor. He was so determined to spend time with her. Why was that?

When he stood and backed into the armchair just to his left, she lowered the blanket ever so slightly. He was looking at her so calmly, she couldn't help but relax, if only slightly. The calm on his face wasn't the calm of Katsura's. He wasn't a waiting for the storm to pass, he was holding an umbrella over his head and marveling at the lightning.

"Is that okay?" he asked, giving her a light smile of encouragement as her breathing began to steady. "Can I stay for a little bit?"

"O. . .okay," she agreed. She needed someone to talk to and seeing as how none of her few friends had approved of her relationship with such an older man, she certainly couldn't go crying to them.

Okita let a full smile break out onto his face and he stood. She tensed, but he made a calming gesture with his hands and headed into the kitchen. When he returned several minutes later, he was carrying two bowls, one much smaller than the other, but both containing an ice cream sundae.

Shousha was crying again, but not panicking.

"Here," he said with a soft smile, handing her the tiny bowl. "My dad used to make one for me whenever I was upset."

Shousha accepted it and though she didn't say anything, eyed the treat. She wasn't hungry and it seemed he knew this as she watched him dig into his cereal bowl sized portion. Despite knowing she probably wouldn't have an appetite, he had made her one anyway.

"I hope you don't mind I helped myself," he laughed reclining into the chair and pointing his spoon at her playfully, "I'll pay you back."

She sniffed back some tears and rested her head on the arm of the couch. "Kogoro never made me ice cream."

Okita paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. "Do you like ice cream?"

She nodded, lip trembling.

"Well I'll make you lots of ice cream," he said, tucking that nugget of information away. It was easily because of his father, but sundaes were, hands down, his favourite snack. He would be more than happy to share them with her.

They sat in silence for a bit while he devoured his ice cream and she stared at hers. A couple times she had raised the spoon to her mouth, but every time, seemed to think better of it. She was still sniffling, and he could see her shaking. A question pulled at the front of his mind and though he knew it might not go over well, he had to ask.

"Do you love him?"

For a second, anger and insult flashed across her face. He braced himself, ready to either defend himself or put a swift end to her rage. The offense disappeared from her expression and she started to swirl the now melted dairy around and around.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I never thought about it. He was always just. . .with me."

Okita found comfort in this. He wasn't sure if his intentions to create a happy life with her could remain pure if she was in love with another man. It just wasn't right. It was especially relieving to know that she wasn't in love with _Katsura_. He had been her companion and possibly her rock, but she would be able to move on.

Shousha looked up at him. "Have you ever been in love?"

Her question surprised him. "No, I haven't."

"Oh."

He stood, giving her a wink and taking her bowl from her. "There's a first time for everything though."

Shousha heard him washing the dishes and pondered the situation she found herself in. She couldn't feel much, numbed by Katsura's sudden abandonment, but what she did feel hurt less and less as the minutes with Okita ticked by.

It was easy to like him. She had known that the first day she had met him, during their conversation about Ta-chan. At the thought of her beloved pet, a new wave of emotion crushed her and she started all over again.

In the kitchen, Okita placed the clean dishes on a towel on the counter to dry and leaned up against the stove, staring ahead at the flowers he had brought her. Katsura had scoffed at them, but Okita was no fool. A silly romantic maybe, but no fool. Roses weren't the only gift he brought.

He did pride himself in the idea of these flowers, as he had picked out each color after researching their meanings (though much to his dismay, each color had several meanings depending on the intent of the giver) and fully intended to explain each one to her. Maybe he could finally break down the wall that she had put up between them. At the very least, maybe she would remove a layer or two of stones so he could at least see her face when he stared through it.

Taking advantage of her distraction, he rummaged through the cabinets, then, finding a suitable vase, filled it with water and placed the flowers into it.

When he returned to her, she looked at the flowers with curiosity laced with something that made Okita's heart sink.

Hope.

"Are those from. . ."

Sighing inwardly, he placed them on the table before her and gave her a boyish grin. "They just arrived," he lied, "I think he feels pretty bad, don't you?"

Shousha leaned forward, examining the arrangement. "He never gave me flowers before." She then sat back dejected. "I always wished he would."

Okita smiled, pulling his chair closer to her. When she didn't seem bothered by this, he touched her hand.

"Maybe he sent them now so you'd never forget them." he said. He would sacrifice this gesture. A new plan had popped into his head. "Do you know the meanings of the colors?"

Shousha shook her head. "I never learned about flowers. Kogoro said they were a waste."

A small smile tugged at Okita's lips. Of course he said they were a waste. A critical error for a man in the business of art. How could he not appreciate fleeting beauty? It was elementary.

"Would you like to know?"

She nodded and he began. "This one. Dark red. It symbolizes unconscious beauty." He looked to her with a smile. "I think that one is obvious."

Initially, he had had almost left that color out. It didn't have much of a place in his feelings, but it fit her all too well. She was so shrouded in her own arrogant insecurities she didn't see the simple beauty of her own face.

"Pink," _Gentleness_ "-Appreciation." _You'll never have to fear me._

"Orange," _Desire_ "-enthusiasm. I have no doubt that you're very enthusiastic in all you do. Your artwork alone has shown me that."

Shousha blushed slightly at the compliment, but remained silent, focusing on her companion's dissection of the arrangement before them.

"White," _Youthfulness_ "Purity-"

"Why would he send me that?"

Okita looked startled for a minute, but recovered his smile with grace. "It can also mean secrecy or silence. Surely you have secrets between the two of you."

She nodded. "They're not big secrets or anything."

"Red,"_ Love_ "-courage and respect. You're a brave woman, Shousha. He knows that and he has faith in you." _I _will_ love you._

"And yellow." He decided to pull his originally intended meaning forth for this one. "New beginning."

She was silent as she stared at the yellow flowers and Okita reached up to lift her chin. She didn't make any movement of protest, and he gave her a gentle smile.

"He didn't want to let you go, but this is the way life has taken you. Katsura. . ._san_ would like you to be happy, so please don't cry anymore."

Truth be told, Katsura hadn't seemed bothered by leaving her in the slightest, but that was the way he was. No one ever knew his true feelings and that was quite possibly the most frustrating of his attributes. The man was impossible to read.

"But what about Ta-chan?" Shousha whispered, pulling out of his loose grip and wrapping her arms around her knees. "he's still in New York."

"Don't worry about Ta-chan," Okita replied gently, "I'll send someone to collect and care for him until we get back."

"We?"

Okita held his breath. He had gotten too comfortable with her. He hadn't gone over his next move overmuch; she was too unpredictable for any sort of plan. He would have to proceed with caution.

Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he closed his hands around a small object, making a mental note of the pill bottle on the floor to his left. He slid off the chair slowly and on one knee, stared up at her.

"Yes," he said quietly, pulling the object, a small box, from his pocket, "we."

He flicked open the lid of the box and though he heard her gasp, steeled himself as he plowed ahead with his proposal.

"Marry me, Shousha."

Her eyes were wide as she stared at the solitary diamond glittering in the dim light of her apartment. He was serious.

"You're crazy," she said, stunned, "you're insane. You don't even know me!"

"I know," he replied, "but I don't care."

He hadn't made any mention of the fact that she had no say in the matter, and he was hoping that it would help persuade her to comply with her future. He realized that he did look ridiculous, proposing to a woman he had seen a grand total of four times, a woman who made a point of detesting his presence, but like he had said, he didn't care.

This proposal wasn't a trick or a ploy to win her over. While he hadn't chosen her, he liked her well enough and his intentions to make her happy were true. He didn't present her with an engagement ring to appease the saying 'diamonds are a girl's best friend' because he knew she wasn't such a woman. Her paint stained clothes and mismatched furniture told him that she didn't give a damn about the finer things in life. Either that or she took them for granted. Perhaps it was more the latter.

He was before her now on one knee because he wanted the rest of the world to know that she was his. It wasn't that he was so arrogant, but that he wanted her to know that whenever anyone caught a glimpse of her left hand, they would say, _how lucky she is that someone cares for her that much!_

Was it selfish? Yes. A bit. But she deserved it. Everybody deserved to be shown kindness, genuine kindness. He knew it was no coincidence that he had come across Tokio nine years ago, and he was also convinced that he had been meant to be with this woman too. Both girls had lived lives of nothing but hatred and lies. Maybe he wouldn't be able to be completely honest with her, but he would show her a better life than the one she knew.

"Please," he said softly, holding the box out to her. "Marry me."

But Shousha only stared at him. He would have to try harder.

"Help me save my family," he begged quietly, "and I will help you destroy yours."

That was all she needed. Her eyes came back to focus and she sucked in her breath. How could she say no to that? Being close friends with a vice president of a largely successful bank, he had access to a society she couldn't even dream of. He was also still a respected member of society here in Japan. He was a powerful man, despite his appearance and attitude. He could easily wipe Yamata Corp. off the map for good.

But there was something else, Shousha found, as she searched his face. He had agreed to this incredibly ridiculous match because his family was in need. Why then did he seem so genuine with his interest in her?

She let out a small breath that must have been 'yes' because a wide grin spread across his face and he set the box down on the table excitedly. What was she doing? What was she thinking? She had just agreed to marry a complete stranger. She was giving in to her parents wishes. She was backtracking.

The feel of his hand on hers brought her out of her inner thoughts and when she looked down at him, her heart sped up. He slid the ring onto her slender finger and if she hadn't been so determined to hate him, she would have fallen in love with him on the spot.

Okita handled her with a soft familiarity, not at all the careful dominance that Katsura had displayed. He wasn't afraid of her, not at all worried that she might suddenly lash out. Even though it was just her hand, she felt as if he were touching her everywhere. She felt warm, but not overly so.

More than anything, his smile, ever present, made her knees weak. The way he looked at her, the way his eyes said _I mean it_, caused her to doubt her anger. He was so honest, genuine, gentle, and-

And taking complete advantage of her instability.

"I won't make a good wife," she said as he pulled away, admiring the glimmer of the stone when she moved.

"Why do you say that?"

Furrowing her brow, she examined the rock on her finger. It wasn't very big and she was glad for that. She hated gaudy jewelry.

"I have a very unpredictable temper."

With a little laugh, Okita crossed his arms on the cushion of the couch and leaned forward to rest his chin on them. He grinned as she flinched at his careless display of casual closeness.

"And I am an absolute demon in the mornings."

"I'm serious," she said, scooting away from him, resisting the urge to nudge his face off the sofa with her foot.

"As am I," he responded laughing, "No person should ever have to be in my presence before eleven a.m. unless I am adequately caffeinated."

"I don't like you."

"Yet."

Shousha looked at him with surprise at his sudden confidence with her. "Excuse me?"

He grinned and sat back, resting against the chair he had been sitting in just minutes before. "You don't like me _yet_."

"No," she said forcefully, "I don't like you at all."

"Why not? Am I ugly?"

A small blush crept up on her features, betraying her attitude. He most certainly was not ugly. He may not have been the most masculine man, but his soft features were so- so- so _precious_. Yes, if she considered him to be nothing more than a cute little boy, she wouldn't remember how strong his hands had felt against hers or the way his jacket folded around his arms that didn't look the least bit scrawny, as she had previously described him.

He laughed at her and motioned towards the television. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

A change of subject was probably best at this point. He had nudged a few bricks out of place, but she was still disoriented. There was a very good chance that when her head cleared, she'd be right back there with her mortar, replacing the fallen stones.

Closing her eyes, she raised her hands to her forehead. What time was it anyway? Eight? Nine? Ten? A movie might not be such a bad idea. She knew that once Okita left, she'd be alone with her thoughts and that would rob her of her night's sleep. Watching a movie in the state she was in would knock her right out.

"We can watch a movie, yeah."

Glad that she had included him in this, he padded over to the rack of mismatched, half stacked DVDs, enjoying how disorganized she was. It was like she lived her whole life in a whirlwind.

"Hmmm. . ." he pondered as he scanned the titles as best he could, "Scary?"

"No." Shousha sought comfort in the arms of a man when scary movies were around. Tonight, horror was out of the cinematical question.

"How about something funny?" he suggested, pulling one out and holding it up. He doubted she could read it; the city lights coming in from the windows didn't reach this far. "Adrenaline Drive?"

"Yeah," she said, stretching out her legs and snatching a pillow from the floor, "I haven't watched that in a while."

"I used to watch it all the time with my sister Kin," he told her as he began to set up the system for their viewing pleasure, "we always wondered what _we_ would do if we ever had a run in with the Yakuza."

"What would you do?" Shousha asked, more out of reflex than anything.

Okita kept his back to her as he scooted away from the screen slightly, pointing the remote at it. "Eh, I dunno, probably just give them a lot of money. Or tell them jokes. Everyone likes jokes."

Despite her mood, a snort of laughter escaped Shousha's nose. He was incredibly chipper, even in the hypothetical face of the Yakuza.

"What about your sister?"

He turned to her then, giving her a pointed look. "Honestly? I'm surprised Kin isn't _in_ the Yakuza."

When she gave a small smile, he stood, and took his place back in the chair. The movie went on and it wasn't long before Shousha had drifted off to sleep. He brought his feet up to rest on the table and leaned back. This visit had been considerably more successful than he had imagined.

She had agreed to go through with the arrangement peacefully, even if she might change her mind about six times in the next two days, and she had even accepted his company for such a long time.

As he looked over at her he contemplated spending the night. His mother had big plans for her tomorrow and it would be much easier to get her to go to Okita house if he were there to take her. At the same time, he didn't want to run the risk of overstaying his welcome. She had been fine with him tonight, but she was in a broken hearted fog. Tomorrow would bring a new wave of emotions, most likely anger and resentment, and Okita wasn't sure he wanted to be on the receiving end of that any more than he already had been.

Then there was the matter of his pistols. His girls. He carried them on his person most everywhere; he had learned firsthand that being away from battle didn't make one safe. It might be easy to remove them and hide them somewhere in the house now, but how would he explain retrieving them? Or worse, what if she found them on her own?

He would just have to come back in the morning.

When the film ended, he carefully turned off the television and set the remote on the top of the DVD player. Shousha sighed in her sleep and he bit his bottom lip. Should he leave her like that? No. He didn't want to just up and leave; it wasn't in him.

Holding his breath, he slipped his arms under her body and slowly lifted her from the sofa, marveling at how much she didn't weigh. Did she even eat?

He wasn't sure how deep a sleeper she was so his journey to the hall of doors was slow and terrifying. He took the time to enjoy how it felt to be holding a girl. It had been quite a few years since he'd had a girlfriend and he had never really allowed himself to get too close to them. The small handful of girls he had spent a night or two with hadn't allowed themselves to get too close to _him_ and he honestly couldn't remember the last time he had just held any of them.

Shifting her weight in his arms, he opened the first door he came across. Bathroom. Definitely not the place to leave her. The second door revealed her studio and he peered around for a minute, taking in the personality of her home. It was just as complex as her own.

Finally, the last door opened to her bedroom and he was shocked to find it incredibly free of clutter. Using one arm to keep her from falling, he pulled back the sheets of her bed. She protested slightly when he put her down and he froze as she gripped his jacket. He hoped she couldn't feel the racing of his heartbeat, or feel the flush that had come over his body.

Nervous as he was, he couldn't hide the grin cracking through his lips. Maybe she didn't know who she was clutching, but she didn't want to be alone and he was the only person there. He won by default.

"I'll be back tomorrow morning," he whispered into her hair, easing her into the bed, "just go to sleep now."

Her grip on him loosened and he covered her with her blankets, giving her head a soft pat before stepping away.

A small darkness activated night light lit the room and while he found it endearing, he also used it to his advantage, sweeping his gaze around the room for some more information about her. There wasn't much. Jewelry stands and boxes covered her dresser, a pile of stuffed animals sat in a corner and on her desk, a few pictures in frames decorated the area that wasn't covered by what he assumed to be sketchbooks. Bending slightly, he picked one of the frames up and was surprised at what he saw.

It was a photo of Shousha and Katsura, that much he had expected, but their expressions threw him for a loop. They were standing in front of the Leaning Tower of Pisa- no, standing wasn't the word for it. They were, well, they were. . .goofing around. With his arms securely around her middle, they were both hunched over in what looked like a fit of laughter, the looming tower threatening the illusion of death by smothering.

"Well shoot," Okita said to no one in particular. It was strange to see his father's murderer in such a state of pure unadulterated happiness. This was a side of him that only Shousha knew. The side _he_ knew was the one she didn't. Even together they wouldn't be able to know him completely.

Not that Okita particularly wanted to.

What Okita _did_ want was the blissful smile of the girl in the photo. He had seen her slightly at ease when he had first met her, but those small grins paled in comparison to the expression she had displayed in this moment. If nothing else was accomplished in their marriage, he would make her smile like that again.

As he set the picture back into place, he gave Shousha one last look before stepping out of the room. He scrawled a short note, leaving it on the counter by her purse and with her key securely in his pocket, slipped from the apartment.

xxxx

**Author's Note: **actually I have nothing to say. I just like the look of having a note at the bottom.


	10. The Reluctance of a Bride

**Author's Notes:** So I've been avoiding Okita's mother's name for quite some time now and the more screen time I give her, the more difficult it is for me to do so. I couldn't find her name anywhere in his Wiki or other place, so I gave her something horrifyingly generic. Forgive me ;_;

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 10**

When Okita arrived at Shousha's apartment the next morning, he was surprised to see her awake, dressed, and waiting for him. Had he not known any better, he would have imagined she had changed her mind about this whole arrangement.

That couldn't have been, however, for when she saw him, an emptiness filled her eyes. Not wanting to set her off, he greeted her with a sunny smile, but she only raised her brow.

"Why are you so cheerful?" she asked, grabbing her purse from the counter. She frowned. It was white leather, almost out of season. She'd have to get another soon.

He laughed, extending out his hand to her, in which he held a rather delicious looking treat. "Should I not be cheerful?"

"It's nine-thirty," she muttered, "-and what the hell is this?"

"It's a parfait! There's the cutest little cafe right down the-"

"I know where the cafe is!" she bit off, irritatedly throwing open a drawer and pulling out a spoon.

"I've already had three coffees," he added.

Shousha looked up at him bitterly before sweeping out of the apartment, parfait in hand. "Let's get this day over with."

The Okita house was bustling with activity in preparation for the wedding celebration that would take place the next day and as Soushi led her down the winding halls to his mother's office, Shousha felt a choking fear slither up her throat.

It was suddenly very real before her. Every scent that wafted through the house, every servant carrying large vases of flowers; it was all a reminder that today was the last day of whatever she had left of the life she knew.

"I don't think I can do this," she said, stopping. Her stomach was churning.

Okita turned to look at her. She was deathly pale, with a slight tinge of green.

"Are you alright?" he asked, putting a tender hand on her elbow. When she didn't resist, he guided her into the nearest room, the dining room, and sat her down at the table. "Do you need some water?"

Groaning, she put her elbows up on the table, shoving her face into her hands and shaking her head. "I need my life back."

Okita looked around the room and inched his way over to the sideboard where a water decanter was always at the ready. Thank heavens for servants.

"Drink this," he said, offering her the glass once he had filled it. "You'll feel better, I promise."

"Does it ever bother you?" she asked, her voice muffled by her hands.

"Does what bother me?" he questioned in reply, perching himself up on the table next to her arms.

"Not having any control. I mean, this is your life too. I'm pretty sure you never planned on marrying someone you didn't know."

Okita pondered that for a minute. He hadn't taken the time to actually think about the fact that he didn't know her. He had met her, liked her, and that was that. It only seemed logical that he would spend the rest of his life _getting_ to know her.

His sisters and his mother were set on the idea of falling in love before getting married, but as he had never considered marriage before, he only assumed that he would fall in love someday too. Being so busy fighting for the memory of his father, the notion often slipped his mind.

Having been put in the situation that he was currently in, he was rolling with the punches (sometimes quite literally) and had every intention of falling in love with Shousha eventually. It couldn't be that hard.

"I don't mind it so much," he said truthfully, reclining back on his palms, "Every day will be a new adventure."

Shousha lifted her head and he gave her a smile.

"Now I'm going to make a phone call. My mother will be down shortly to whisk you away into the world of womanly things."

Narrowing her eyes, Shousha sat back. "Like what?"

Okita scooted off the table and pulled out his phone. "Who knows? Manicures, pedicures, lunches at salad bars. . .shopping for lingerie-"

"WHAT?"

He gave her a humorous look. "You really haven't seen much of my mother. She's not nearly the lady she appears to be."

With a thumbs up, he strolled from the room, scrolling through his contacts. Once he was out of earshot, he pressed the call button and waited.

"You're up early, Okita," came the calm voice of Hijikata on the other end, "it is not yet noon where you are."

Laughing off cool jab at his sleeping habits, he leaned up against the wall. "There is a lot to do, Hijikata-san."

"Then what can I do for you? I imagine my phone did not ring at eight o'clock in the evening for a chat."

Straight to the point, as always.

"There are two things, actually," Okita began, ducking into a servant's hallway. He wasn't going to take any chances. "Firstly, for the next two days I will be unarmed. I have an overly suspicious sister and a rather violent and unpredictable fiancée."

"I will provide you with appropriate protection," Hijikata said simply.

"And secondly, Hijikata-san, does Tokugawa have men inside Yamata Corp.?"

"You know they do."

Okita nodded to himself. Of course. Tokugawa were everywhere. "Do we?"

There was a slight pause on the other line and Okita knew the hesitation was curiosity. Hijikata didn't need to think about where he had placed his men. He knew everything at all times. What he_ was_ wondering was why Okita wanted to know if the Shinsengumi had infiltrated Yamata Corp.

"Why do you ask?"

So they didn't.

"Can we get someone in there?" he asked, a little bit more hurriedly than he intended. "Employee or hacker, it makes no difference to me."

"What are your intentions, Okita?" Hijikata's tone edged on warning.

"It's not for me," he replied quickly. "It's for Shousha. A wedding gift, if you would."

"Enlighten me."

Okita looked around the empty passageway for a few seconds, straining his ears for any hint of persons coming. He was still alone.

"Yamata Corp. has recently fallen victim to a rather unfortunate scheme. All of their efforts to expand have been swept from beneath them, and re-sold under contract that the buyer have no dealings with them no matter what the price."

When Hijikata didn't respond, Okita went on, "I'm rather proud to say that Shousha concocted this system and I promised to help her continue in exchange for her compliance with this marriage."

"Don't waste your time, Okita."

"It's not my time," he said, "and aside from providing her with the information she needs, I have no intention of taking part in the destruction of her parents. It's not my battle to fight."

Hijikata let out a small sigh. "What is it that you need?"

Okita grinned. "Being in New York, Shousha will not have access to the information regarding Yamata's next move. All I need is someone who can forward all plans to her via e-mail. She can handle the rest. She's done it many times."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Hijikata mused, "I'll make a few phone calls and see what I can do."

"Thank you very much."

"Oh, and Okita?"

"Yes, Hijikata-san?"

"Do not ever interrupt me on a date again."

The call ended there and Okita pulled his phone from his ear and stared at it. Hijikata? On a _date_? He was always so invested in their work that everyone had assumed the man to be asexual. To think that he had any sort of romantic life was a complete shock. He lived his life on a very strict and specific schedule. Were his women scheduled too?

To this, Okita let out several snorts of laughter. He was tempted to call up Harada and get the details. Harada knew everything about Hijikata; they were practically brothers, despite their opposing personalities.

He opted not to, however. He needed to focus on whatever it was that his mother would want him to do to prepare for the wedding the next day. He only hoped it didn't involve a haircut.

xxxx

Sitting in a car with the refined lady of the Okita household was unnerving to say the least. It wasn't that Shousha was afraid of her, but her constant reassuring glances and maternal smiles were putting her on edge. This woman didn't seem to be bothered by her moody silence at all. Instead, she was trying to soothe it.

"You have beautiful hair," she commented.

Shousha jumped, absently pulling her braid over her shoulder. "It's just black," she mumbled in return.

"Do you always wear it that way?"

"Uh, yeah. Most of the time." Such casual conversation was throwing her off. She didn't want to keep her guard up completely; she had no intentions of acting rudely towards this woman, but she was uncomfortable with her presence.

"Such a shame," the older woman sighed, "It must look lovely loose."

"Okita-san-"

"Please," she said gently, placing her hand on Shousha's, "Call me Hana."

_Hana._ Such an ordinary name. Simple. Nothing at all like the woman it belonged to. Then again, it was unfair to judge a person's name. She had been named Shousha. It wasn't a common name; she had never met another, and it's meanings were vast. This could have been the root of her identity crisis, but she seemed to think it was just a nasty coincidence.

There was no doubt her parents had named her after elegance and propriety in hopes that she would be exactly as they imagined. The way she had turned out, however, was not at all to their liking and if they had ever chosen her name for grace, they wouldn't admit it. They did, however, constantly berate her with another meaning, gloating about how they had named her appropriately.

_A casualty._

That's what she was. A stain on the family. They'd never let her forget it.

"Alright then," she said, redirecting her thoughts to her future mother-in-law. "Hana-san, I do not think about my hair often."

"Let me see your hands."

Confused, Shousha complied and Hana clucked her tongue as she observed her palms.

"Your skin is rough, isn't it?"

"I am an artist, Hana-san," she replied quietly. She had never cared about her skin before. Her face was free of blemishes and the complexion, if a bit darker than current fashion approved of, was even. She never had to worry about makeup (except on special occasions) and normally just slapped on some moisturizer if her hands had been washed excessively.

It might have seemed strange, but Shousha liked when her hands were dry and cracked. It meant she was being productive.

"So you are," Hana said, turning her left hand over to admire the ring Soushi had given her. "It's beautiful."

Shousha sucked in a breath. She had meant to take it off. She had agreed to marry the man, but she wasn't ready to show it.

"He-he proposed last night," she said turning her head to look out the window.

Though she couldn't see it, she knew Hana was smiling gently, the same way her son did. "And you said yes. How romantic."

"There's nothing romantic about it," Shousha bit off before letting out a small apology.

Hana studied her for a few moments and then carefully, she spoke.

"My marriage was arranged as well."

"I thought you were in love with your husband," Shousha murmured, her chin resting against her free palm. "That what everyone always said." That was what she had heard, from what little she knew about the Okita family. Mr & Mrs. were madly in love.

"I was very much in love with my husband, yes," she confirmed with a smile. When Shousha turned to her, curiosity in her eyes, she sat back against her seat.

"I was in my first year at university when my parents announced my engagement to a man I didn't know. I had never had a boyfriend, though I did have a small crush on my history professor."

"You didn't fight it?" Shousha wondered, "how could you just accept something like that?"

Hana let out a giggle. "My dear, back then it was unheard of to go against your parents' wishes. Even now you've caused quite a stir in society by doing so."

Yes, she had.

"I hadn't seen him," she went on, "but the next day a dozen roses were delivered to my dormitory with a letter introducing himself. For the next year and a half I received a letter and a gift from my Katsujiro every single day. We never had the chance to meet, but as we conversed through the mail, I knew that I would be happy."

Shousha stared at the woman next to her. "You fell in love with him over letters?"

"Very much so. He was incredibly funny, always beginning with a joke. I couldn't wait for my wedding day so that he would finally be able to hold me in his arms."

"That's so sweet," Shousha said softly, smiling.

A soft blush rose up in the older woman's cheeks and Shousha felt a strange sadness developing in her gut. Okita spoke so highly of his father and his mother was clearly still in love with him, yet he had been murdered in cold blood not yet three years ago. How was it that such a good family had someone they loved and admired taken away, when her family, the monsters that they were, thrived?

It was all so unfair.

"He was a good man, Shousha, and so is my son."

Shousha licked her lips nervously. "I know he is, but. . ."

Hana understood. "It is a big change."

"Yes." It was a big change. Too big of a change.

"If I may offer some advice, my dear?"

Shousha raised a brow.

"Allow him to think he is funny."

Hana laughed at the startled confusion that graced her daughter-in-law's face.

"Just laugh at his jokes," she said kindly, "every one, no matter how cheesy or terrible. Even if he forgets the punch line."

"I don't understand what that has to do with marriage, Hana-san," Shousha said, furrowing her brows.

Hana's face became maternal again and she smiled kindly. "Laughter is quite catching, dear. You will soon find yourself laughing at his antics not out of habit, but because you genuinely enjoy his presence."

Shousha's jaw dropped. Of all the words of wisdom she could have given on married life, she wanted her to _laugh_?

"W-what about trust and fidelity? Or, or money and duties. . ." Shousha's voice trailed off as Hana patted her cheek affectionately.

"Laugh first, my dear. Everything else will fall into place."

xxxx

When Hana and Shousha spilled into Okita house around four in the afternoon, they had bonded considerably. She was easy to like, much like Soushi, and Shousha found something strangely comforting in the woman's presence.

They hadn't spoken at all about the wedding after the first car ride. Hana had decided not to tread on that ground as Shousha looked as if she might have burst into tears at any moment. Shousha just didn't want to think about it.

So they had spent the day shopping and pampering themselves. It might not have been productive (aside from the manicure Shousha had reluctantly agreed to), but it had been enjoyable. Hana had treated her like a daughter and in turn, Shousha had opened up a bit, even forgetting about her broken heart for a while.

Even when Okita came nearly bouncing down the hall to meet them and take their bags, she didn't shrink back or glower.

"Welcome back, ladies," he said cheerfully, piling bags upon bags onto his surprisingly strong arms. He turned to Shousha and gave her a wink, "My mother didn't give you too much trouble, did she?"

Unable to force out a frown, she allowed her lips to maintain the half-smile that had been on her face for the better half of the trip.

"It was a fun day," she said, "and don't be stupid. Let me carry some of that."

He skirted out of her way as she reached to snatch up a couple of the parcels and when he sauntered down the hall, she followed after him, leaving his mother smiling gently.

"Really," Shousha protested, "You don't have to take it all."

Okita nudged open the door to his room. "Is anything breakable?"

"Wha- uh, no why-"

"Good," he murmured, releasing his arms and sending all the bags tumbling across his bed in a crushing avalanche of plastic, paper, and tissue. Shousha stared at the pile and reached for a hint of red fabric that had spilled out of it's container. She pulled it free and held it up before her.

"Do you like it?" she asked as she pressed it up against her body. It was an evening dress, a cute little number, inspired by the wiggle dresses of Europe in the nineteen fifties. "I bought it for dinner tonight."

Okita blinked a few times, surprised that she was asking his opinion, and had done so quite casually. She seemed to realize this error too and with a huff, turned away from him to admire the frock in the tall mirror that hung on the wall.

"It's bold," he said, leaning over slightly to catch her face in the mirror's reflection.

"So?" she challenged, "your Mibu shirt is pretty damn bold."

"I'm saying I _like_ bold," he amended with a grin. "It's like you're fearless."

Shousha frowned as she fingered the hem of her dress. Most people did assume she was fearless, but that wasn't the case. She was bold and uncouth, but never fearless. In fact, she had never been more afraid in her entire life.

"Where are we eating?" she asked, changing the subject and tossing the dress back onto the bed.

Okita looked up at her. "Mother didn't tell you? We're dining at Yamata house."

She froze, squinting her eyes in a threatening glare. "You'd best be joking."

"I wouldn't ever lie to you," he said, though that alone held little truth. "It won't be so bad. They just want to make sure everyone is accounted for. It's just dinner."

Shousha crossed her arms. "With my parents nothing is_ just_ anything. I can't go there. I won't go there."

After his success over the past two days, Okita felt himself losing what thin connection he had with her.

"It will be alright, Shousha."

"No! I won't let them see me this way!" She looked down at the ring on her hand and moved to pull it off. "I won't let them see they've won!"

With lightning speed, Okita stood and clasped his hand over both of hers, stopping her from removing the token of his commitment.

"Please don't take it off," he pleaded, "because I have a plan."

She was tense, he could feel her nerves going crazy. It was probably that if he kept his hands on her any longer she would explode and try to fight him physically, but he had to at least try to have her hear him out.

"A plan." Her voice was doubtful and becoming shaky.

"Yes," he replied earnestly, chocolate eyes bearing into her own. "I want you to pretend that you love me."

"_What_?" She wrenched herself from his grip and stepped back, reaching for the ring again. "I would never do such an idiotic thing. Is this some sort of stupid game to you? Do you think it's funny that I'm on the losing end?"

"I don't think it's funny at all. I'm being serious."

With a couple deep breaths, she stared at him.

"Think of it, Shousha. What are they expecting tonight? What are they going to do to you?"

Her eyes darted around the room as she clenched her ring finger. Why couldn't she bring herself to take the damn thing off?

"I don't know, probably shove it in my face that I'm trapped."

He nodded. "And what about me? What do you think they'll tell me?"

Shousha took another breath and began to chew on her lips. The New York wind had chapped them. She'd have to remember to buy lip balm.

"Uh. . I don't know, maybe explain how unfortunate your life will be with me."

With a smile, he bounced over to her, catching her off guard and putting his hands on either side of her face. It was a risky move, but he was well trained. He needed to shock her to break down the walls she built.

"Don't you see, Shousha? They thrive on your misery!"

"I know that!" she snapped, nervous that he had his hands on her.

"Then why not take away all their ammunition?"

Something clicked in her brain then, and when she put her fingers up around his wrists, she pulled his hands down slowly.

"You want me to pretend to be happy."

"Just for the next two days. Once tomorrow is over, you can hate me again."

Shousha inhaled again. It was a good idea. It wouldn't change anything, but at the very least, Kanako and Mori would be stripped of their satisfaction. If she could pretend to be an excited bride, if she could convince them they had_ helped_ her, she would be yet another step ahead of them.

Soushi was keeping his end of the bargain.

"I've never acted before," she said quietly. "and we'd have to come up with a good story. They know me too well to believe just anything."

Okita could hear the excitement in her voice and he exhaled secretly as he backed up and plopped himself back down on the bed. He was done invading her space for now. She was complying thusfar.

"Well, how did it happen?"

Shousha sent him a desperate look and he began to think.

"Maybe," he began, "we bumped into each other at the coffee shop. I wasn't looking at where I was going and I spilled an iced mocha on your favourite blouse. When we were both fumbling to clean it up, you realized who I was and we knew it was fate."

Finishing up his fantasy, he looked to his intended with a hopeful grin, but the smile faded when he saw her staring at him with a rather disgusted expression.

"Okita, that is the cheesiest, most cliche story I have ever heard in my life. It's like you took it straight from the back of a DVD."

He laughed at this. Creative writing wasn't his strong point. It didn't seem to be hers either because whenever it seemed that she had an idea, she'd shake her head and dismiss it.

"You know, you really should start calling me Soushi," he told her, "Or Sou or darling or, anything other than _Okita_. That's what they call me at work."

She sighed inwardly at this. She didn't like the idea of addressing him as if she had any sort of personal connection to him, but he was right. Not only would it be unconvincing for a lovesick bride to be referring to her husband by his surname (sans honorific), but even in everyday life, once they _were_ married, it would be awkward sounding.

"We met again at my art gallery," she said decidedly.

"Which we did," he agreed.

"And you asked to speak to me in private. We went onto the balcony and you asked if I would meet you for breakfast the next morning."

"I don't eat breakfast."

"My parents don't know that," she said with a shake of her head. "We met for breakfast at a small diner and then. . . and then what happened?"

He thought for a moment. "And then we left."

"We just left?"

"Hold on, hold on," he said, eyes brightening as a thought came to him. "You were leaving because you weren't convinced that you had any reason to marry me."

"Which I don't."

"But before you could turn, I grabbed your hand-"

"And you pulled me to you-"

"And I kissed you."

"And you kissed me!"

They were close. Too close. He was holding her hands and she was smiling. Why was she smiling? It was a romantic theory, a classic move, predictable, but still believable. But that was all it was. A theory. A story. Make believe. Then why was she blushing?

The thrill of their deception shone brightly in Shousha's eyes and in her smile. Okita regarded this happily. She hadn't yet realized their proximity. He had stood some time ago and as he stood there holding her hands and taking in her smile, he felt the overwhelming urge to do exactly what they were about to pretend they had done months ago.

"What happened after that?" she whispered.

"We. . ." Did it matter what they did after that? They were here now, about to be married. Happily married. He reached up to caress her cheek, but she slapped him away.

"_What are you doing_?"

Damn. He'd gone too far.

"We don't start with the lovey dovey shit until we get to Yamata house, you got that?"

Okita gave himself a little shake to clear his mind. Never before had he been so lost in the mere presence of a woman. It was a scary feeling. His mind had been completely blank; he had acted not of his own accord, but by the will of his body. It seemed there was to be a new test of his self control.

If he had been so tempted by her when she was doing nothing more than standing before him, what on Earth was he going to do when they shared a bed? He decided not to think on the matter.

"After the kiss," she said, crossing her arms, "we fell in love, but we can work out the details over dinner, depending on how far the units decide to pry."

He nodded and reached for her dress. "Well then my leading lady," he said, holding it out to her. "You should get into costume. Our show is about to start."

She snatched the garment from his fingers and, gathering up several other bags, stormed out of the room. It was getting increasingly more difficult not to like him and _that_ was not helping sort out the chaos that was her life.

When the door slammed behind her, Okita let himself fall back onto his bed, covering his eyes with his hands. Dinner tonight had the potential to be a complete success, or a horrifying disaster. Together they would be testing her parents, but more than that, he planned to test _her_.

If for a day and a half she could pretend to love him, maybe by the end of them, she could at least find him agreeable, or, dare he hope for it, _likable_. If that didn't work, the results from his phone call earlier that morning would be sure to lift her spirits.

Raising his hand to the ceiling, Okita examined his ring finger, bare, but for only another day. It was then that a rather crushing thought swept its way into his mind. He excelled at numbers and customer service. He was unmatched in combat and social graces. But he was getting married tomorrow. He was about to be a _husband_.

With a sigh, his hand fell against his forehead. Of all the challenges that he had been presented in his life, this one was the most terrifying. It wasn't the thought of being with Shousha forever. It wasn't even having to be monogamous or (eventually) a father that was suddenly setting his thought askew.

For the first time in his life, the great Okita Soushi had no idea what he was doing.

xxxx

**Author's Notes**: I wanted to put the dinner scene in this chapter but then as usual my fingers sort of just took off and now it's super long and at risk of having a chapter with 6k words (and taking even longer to get up), I figured I'll just push that over to the next one.

It's going to be a lot of fun, that's for sure. :D

Merry Christmas, all!


	11. The Beginning of a Friendship

**Author's Note:** I wish I knew why I named Shousha Shousha. I wish I could go back and time and tell my 13 year old self that it would only cause trouble later on. All this Shousha and Soushi nonsense is making me crosseyed.

Also, my calorie counts are way off, but for the purpose of this story, let's assume that frozen foods in Japan are way higher in calories than the US (though I seriously doubt it. We're the worst eaters ever.)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 11**

He was holding her hand.

It was a small show of affection, just enough to get them through the door of Yamata house without her putting him through a wall, but it was enough. Shousha's skin tingled and she found herself swallowing more often than usual, trying to keep the rapidness of her breath at bay.

Okita's skin was calloused and she wondered what sort of hobbies he might have. Gardening? Guitar? Baseball? It was strange that his hands were so rough when the rest of him was so soft and gentle. Her own abrasiveness matched the rest of her very well. _She_ was difficult and hard to approach.

Yet somehow, with his fingers laced into hers, she felt a little less harsh, a little more tolerant of the world around her. She didn't like it.

With a small squeeze, he looked over to her. "Are you ready?"

Shousha looked up at the giant brick of a house and sighed. She didn't have a choice.

"You'd better not screw this up," she growled, to which he laughed.

"I'll do my best to adapt to whatever ridiculousness ensues."

Hana was already inside, having wanted to give her son and Shousha some time to prepare themselves. Soushi had explained his plan to her and she had approved immediately, excited to see the look on Kanako's face when her plans backfired. She really couldn't stand that woman.

When Okita and Shousha stepped into the main entryway, they could hear Kanako's voice echoing through the halls.

"My deepest apologies, Okita-san," she was saying, a genuine twinge of worry laced into her irritated tone, "but I can not locate my daughter. I have never been so embarrassed in my life."

Hana's voice was light and mischievous in return. "Oh, hasn't anyone told you? She is with Soushi. They will be along shortly."

Outside the drawing room, both Okita and Shousha began to snicker, but stopped when the butler cleared his throat to announce their entrance. The couple straightened and Okita reached for her hand again. He felt her inhale slowly and steeled himself.

The show was about to start.

"Okita Soushi and the young Mistress, madam," said the butler, not failing to look down his nose condescendingly as he addressed Shousha.

Both Kanako and Mori stared at the two, unable to conjure up any emotion at all. They hadn't expected her to show at all, nevermind on the arm of her betrothed. Even more alarming was her style of dress. Accustomed to her normally careless and mussy appearance, they hardly recognized her.

Her flaming red dress clung to her modest shape, dipping down daringly in both the front and back and hugged what little curves she had, giving the illusion of a far more sensual figure. Classic black pumps replaced her favourite brown knee high boots, and her hair, usually hanging loosely over her shoulder, had been braided, twisted, and pinned into a sweeping up-do that flattered the two crystals dangling from her ears.

Shousha smiled, giving Okita's hand a visible squeeze, and leaning into him ever so slightly.

"Good evening."

Her parents looked at each other, then back to their daughter, who never let the gentle grin fade from her lips.

"Soushi." Kanako's tone was curt. Mori gave him a small nod. Neither of them addressed Shousha.

"It is a pleasure to see you again," he said with a smile, offering a seat to his intended. Shousha gave him a light look, accepting the chair and pretending that she was completely comfortable with him remaining standing by her side.

"Well this was certainly unexpected," Kanako began, giving the two a once over.

"Unexpected?" asked Hana as she tilted her head gently in question. "Should they not be together?"

Mori cleared his throat. "Our daughter has never once followed a command given to her. It is most unusual to see her so tame."

Kanako nodded in agreement. "We have also never seen her so. . ." she paused, tapping her foot as she searched for the correct word. "_Clean_."

Shousha leaned forward. "I can assure you, _father_, that I am here of my own accord."

"Yes," he murmured, "this is what I find strange."

A servant entered the room then, announcing dinner, and the five rose to the dining room. Okita again pulled out a chair for Shousha and as before, she feigned grace. Hana for the most part tried to keep conversation light and polite. Kanako and Mori were too focused on their daughter to offer anything of real value to the discussions and after fifteen minutes, the elegant woman gave up.

There was a few short moments of silence and Mori's eye began to twitch as Okita reached over to slice the filet that was on Shousha's plate.

"You don't have to do that, Soushi," Shousha said softly, "I'm perfectly capable."

"Nonsense, Shou-chan," he replied lightly. Shousha reached under the table and pinched his leg, making sure to leave what would probably be a nasty mark with her fingernails.

"I _said_," she repeated playfully, "I can do it."

If he had gotten her hint, he was taking advantage of her inability to lash out at him, and ignored it completely.

"You've had a busy day. You should just relax and let me take care of you."

She wanted to cross her arms and slam her back into the chair, pouting, but she didn't. She couldn't. Controlling her emotions was something she had never been able to do very well and today was no different. It wasn't hard to pretend to be enamored with her fiancé, all she really had to do was smile and say nice things, but she _wasn't_ a fan of having her food cut for her, or being referred to as 'Shou-chan'.

She wasn't five.

"I have to say," Kanako began, jabbing the knife into the steak before her, "that I find myself incredibly surprised at how well you two are getting along."

Okita looked to her with a mildly curious gaze. "Surprised, Yamata-san? What is there to be surprised about. Shousha is such a lovely woman."

She graced him with a wry upturn of her lips. "'Lovely' has never been a word used to describe her before."

Shousha made a slight move to stand, but Okita stopped her with a gentle squeeze of her knee.

"Then perhaps you haven't realized what sort of woman your daughter has grown into."

Mori snorted.

"I do wonder," Kanako continued, "how it is that you managed to tame her? I believe you can recall your first meeting."

_Our first meeting was fine before you entered the room_, he thought bitterly.

"He did not _tame_ me, Ka- mother," Shousha said fiercely. Nowhere in their agreement had they decided that she had to be docile towards her parents.

"Of course not, dear," Hana interjected, sending her daughter-in-law a knowing smile before directing her speech towards her parents. "Soushi and Shousha have been getting along quite well for some time now."

"Getting along might be a bit of an understatement," Shousha muttered, flicking a sideways grin towards Okita. If he wasn't going to let her be angry, at least she could be inappropriate.

He laughed, almost nervous at the implications of what she had just said. "It's true," he told the table, "She simply couldn't resist my charms. It seems that I can be quite convincing."

"Especially when he's naked," Shousha added.

Okita kicked her under the table.

She didn't seem to be affected by his disapproval of her display of their faux private affections and put her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hands, dreamily.

"I never knew what it was like to _really_ make love until Soushi," she sighed.

Hana had covered her mouth with her napkin in a desperate attempt to hide her giggling. It wasn't Shousha's expert performance, but her son's steadily reddening face that was the cause of her laughter. Their hosts were completely speechless. Apparently Shousha's brazen words had managed to shock even them.

"Sh-Shou-chan," Okita chastised, giving everyone a slightly frightened smile.

"Don't be shy, darling," she cooed, placing her hands against his warm cheeks and rubbing her nose against his in a horrifyingly sweet show of affection that would have surely made her vomit had she ever witnessed it herself.

He pulled away and cleared his throat, patting her hand. When she did something she sure went all the way. No pun intended.

"And yet she still finds a way to disgrace those around her."

Smoothing out his blush, Okita glanced at her father with a grin. "I must admit that I'm still unused to our private life being so _public_," he said before shrugging his shoulders, "but public can be exciting too I suppose."

Shousha pointed her fork at him. "Like that time at the train station?"

Okita chuckled. Where did she come up with these things?

"Shou-chan," he said simply, "my mother?"

"Oh!" she cried, having genuinely forgotten about the woman across from her and her relationship to Okita. "I'm sorry," she said.

But Hana was enjoying the spectacle. "Oh it's of no consequence," she said with a dainty wave. "Young love is so beautiful. I could tell you tales of my own, but I'm afraid it might make Soushi faint."

He nodded in agreement. Faking scandalous stories was fun and amusing. Hearing details of his parents' honeymoon period was crossing a line he didn't even want to have to draw.

"Enjoy her now then, Soushi," Kanako said bitterly, "but know that every _novelty _wears off."

"It's not a novelty," Shousha snapped. "Why can't you understand that we are actually happy together?"

"Happy?" her mother laughed, "You mean to tell me that by some coincidence you have found _happiness_ in something out of your control?"

Completely rigid, Shousha glared ahead at her. If she didn't choose her words carefully, this could all have been for nothing. She would either have to admit to submission or blow her cover completely.

"Yamata-san," Okita began, smiling softly, "it is lucky for us that you have brought us together. You should be glad that such a successful match was made."

But his words went unheard as Kanako addressed her daughter. "You do not deserve to have happiness, you ungrateful little worm."

Shousha's mouth twitched. She was winning. "This match was your doing. I am simply a victim, as you wanted me to be." She paused, a smile creeping up on her features as a dark shadow hovered over her face. "Or did your plan to cause me eternal misery backfire?"

Mori moved to stand. "Why you little-"

"Little what?" Shousha challenged, "Bitch? Slut? Leech? Call me what you will, it doesn't change the fact that you've failed."

Okita shifted nervously in his seat. She was getting angry.

"You _are _a little slut," Kanako hissed, forgetting her guests, "I distinctly remember you keeping Katsura Kogoro's bed warm less than three months ago. Was the transition so easy?"

At the mention of Katsura, Shousha's breath hitched slightly and Okita's grip on her hand tightened. She couldn't fall apart now.

Tears pricked at her eyes and she stood, pointing a threatening finger at her mother. "You wouldn't understand because you don't know what it's like," she said shakily. Kanako remained unmoving as she continued, "You and father have never shared an _ounce_ of love between the two of you!"

Mori crossed his arms. "Love is hardly important in matters of marriage and business," he said stiffly.

"Of course not," Shousha whispered harshly, "All you're concerned about is business. Everything is business, including me. You can't comprehend my life because I live by _emotion._ You know nothing about kindness or affection, so how can you sit there and tell me that I can't love my own fiancé or that he can't love me?"

Kanako opened her mouth to retort, but Shousha cut the motion short as she purposely knocked over the water decanter with a vicious sweep of her arm, sending water and shattered glass spilling across the wooden table.

"If I don't deserve a happily ever after then why the _fuck_ did you give me a prince!"

Kicking back her chair, she stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her. Afraid for her condition, Okita hastily stood and excused himself, hurrying after her.

Walking briskly down the hall, he cursed under his breath. He should have known better than to throw her into the fire like that. Yes, she was perfectly capable of handling herself, and yes, she had done well to keep in-character while she exploded, but her parents were just as malicious as she was. Of course they were going to make underhanded comments about her relationship with Katsura, and he would be a fool to assume that their charade would have made her forget about her broken heart.

Turning a corner, he sighed with relief when he saw her. She was standing, but only just, and her arms were wrapped around her middle as her shoulders shook and she struggled to keep standing. He briefly wondered if she kept any of her medication here for emergencies.

"Shousha?"

He inched towards her, not wanting to startle her, but the closer he got, the stranger her sobs sounded. When he was about three feet from where she stood, he realized that the strange cries weren't cries at all.

She was laughing.

"Shou-chan?"

Hearing him, she lifted her head and wiped her eyes of the tears that had fallen. "Oh my God," she sputtered, unable to form a complete sentence through the giggles, "Oh my God did you see their faces?"

Startled, Okita stared at her for a moment, then he too began to chuckle.

"They totally fell for it!" she hooted, "All of it!"

Her laughter was catchy, he found, as soon he too was leaning against the wall for support. He would never forget the looks on their faces, on Kanako, Mori, or even his own mother's, when Shousha had come out with her lewd confessions and furious proclamations of love. It was all so insane that he couldn't help but laugh. It was the strangest thing he had ever played a part in, but somehow it all seemed to make sense.

"Oh Sou," she said, dabbing at her eyes again and breathing out little 'whoa's to calm herself, "this was such a great idea."

Okita's laughter halted and he looked over to her. "What did you say?"

Holding a pin between her teeth, she twisted a lock of hair that had fallen loose, and raised her arms to put it back into place. "I said this was a great idea," she repeated.

"No, no, the other part," he said, lowering his voice in wonderment, "you called me Sou."

Replacing the pin, she gave him a strange look. "Yeah? So?"

"You've never called me that before. It just sounded so natural just now, like it was no big deal."

She lowered her arms and licked her lips. It wasn't a big deal, really, but she had built herself up to detest him, her minor slip of the tongue had caught him completely off guard. In all honesty, she liked the idea of calling him _Sou_, or _Soushi_, but her pride kept _Okita_ on the tip of her tongue. Until now, that is.

Giving her a small smile, Okita brushed another stray lock from her face. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Returning his grin, she nodded. She'd had just about enough of this house for good. "We can take my parents' driver so your mom can take her own."

"Good idea," he murmured, taking out his phone to text his mother about their departure. It was rude of him not to take his leave officially, but he didn't care for his hosts and seeing as how the relationship between Shousha and himself was nothing more than a business deal, he found no reason to feign politeness.

He felt a tiny bit of guilt leaving his mother alone with them, but she was clever enough to excuse herself gracefully. Not to mention she would be more than thrilled at the thought of her son and his bride running away to take on the night.

Once they were seated in the car, they fell silent. Okita didn't want to press his luck, which had been extremely good the past few days, and Shousha was contemplating how she'd be able to top tonight's display.

The city rolled by, the flashing neon and glow of the lanterns mingling with one another and it wasn't long after they passed the shopping district that Shousha noticed the car was headed towards her apartment.

"Wait!" she cried out to the driver, who slammed on his brakes immediately.

"M-miss, is something the matter?"

She looked down, biting her lip. "Please take us to Okita house."

The driver rolled his eyes, muttering something about how she should have spoken up sooner, but did as she requested. Okita looked at her in question.

"If I go home, I'll be alone," she said quietly. "I don't want to be alone."

Tonight was the only night she would _have_ to be alone for the rest of her days and though normally she would have jumped at the chance to have one last hold on her old life, she knew that her attempts would have been futile. One night alone wouldn't change the fact that Kogoro was gone and Soushi had taken his place. Permanently.

Okita seemed to understand this and he placed a reassuring hand over her own. "You never have to be alone now," he said softly.

She tensed for a moment, then sighed, resting her head against the window.

"I'm hungry."

xxxx

Upon arrival at Okita house, Soushi led Shousha straight to the kitchen. She had been distant with him most of the ride, but not mean. More than anything, she seemed exhausted. He couldn't blame her; he wasn't exactly on his A game either.

"So what would you like?" he asked, throwing open the doors of an industrial sized refrigerator. "We have pretty much everything."

Shousha slid onto a stool at the island counter in the middle of the kitchen, leaning forward on her arms.

"I want something greasy and fattening," she decided, "I feel the need to binge."

Okita scanned the contents of the giant cooler. "We have. . . everything to make fried dumplings."

"Need more fat. Something nasty that I'll regret in two hours."

He pursed his lips. His mother was a very healthy eater and kept the house stocked with _ingredients_. Tokio, however. . .

"I know!" he said, closing the fridge and diving into a freezer chest. "Bacon wrapped mozzarella sticks!" He flipped over the box of the processed edible, reading the nutrition facts. "four hundred sixty calories per serving-"

"How many servings in the box?"

"Four."

"Perfect. I'll take it."

"Alrighty," he said, lowering the top of the freezer and tossing the box onto the counter as he went in search of a tray to cook them on.

"Don't bother with the oven, Sou," Shousha called down to him, using her heels of her slippered feet to lift herself up on the stool, "just use the microwave."

Taking in the joy of her calling his name for a second time, he did as she requested and soon they were seated across from each other at the small island as if they were old friends.

"Do you think it's okay to get married when you're drunk?"

Okita looked up from the plate of carrots he was munching on and searched her face, not sure if she was joking or not.

Still unsure, he grinned, "Well mother's planned us a traditional wedding so you'll have some sake in you at least."

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. "No way, man. I need like, vodka or whiskey to get me through this."

Swirling a carrot around in a cream cheese dip his mother had made the day before, he raised his brows and shrugged. "I don't know if it would be legally binding if you were drunk, you know."

Shousha sighed. "You're right. It wouldn't be."

"So. . .do you drink often?" He figured it might be a good thing to know if his wife had a tendency to look to the bottle for comfort.

"Oh," she laughed, "no, not really. I'm a real nasty drunk."

To this, he smiled, relieved. He was steadily becoming a fan of western wines, but wouldn't consider himself to be a 'drinker'.

"Are you one of those belligerent drunks who will argue with anyone and everything?"

"No, not at all."

"Super sloppy?" he tried again, "can't stand for more than three seconds?"

"Nope," she said, cracking a smile.

"Over affectionate? Will I be dragging you away from your friends as you scream _'I WUVVVV YOU SHOUUU MUSHHHH'_!"

Unable to contain herself, Shousha let a laugh burst through her lips. "No, it's even worse than that," she admitted. He motioned for her to explain and she threw back her head, letting out a defeated grunt.

"I get super horny."

Okita's face lit up for a fraction of a second and he dipped another carrot. "Hey that's not so bad," he said, "you know, for me."

Shousha made a disgusted face at the half a mozzarella stick in her hands. "Gross, I just said horny."

Okita frowned too. "Yeah. You did."

"I hate that word," she said, shuddering, "Horny. It sounds so, so, I don't know, just really gross."

"It is gross," he agreed, "Want to know what word-well it's a phrase really-that I hate?"

She nodded, pushing her plate away from her.

"D- no I can't. It's not appropriate for the table."

"Oh come on," Shousha scoffed, "I'm the queen of inappropriate. Spit it out."

His face reddened slightly and he looked down at his food, which was suddenly losing its appeal. He had never had such a conversation with a female before, save his sisters.

"Dump," he said finally.

Shousha raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter with that? Are you sensitive because you've always been the one to get dumped?"

"No," he said, leaning forward on his arms. "Dump. As in, to take one."

"Oh! _Oh. . ._oh you are gross!"

"Hey I warned you!" he shot back, but she already had her head buried in her arms, shoulders vibrating as she exploded into a fit of laughter.

"Please don't ever say that again," she said, several snorts escaping through her nose, "you're too good to be saying shit like that."

He smiled at her, resisting the urge to laugh himself. Most of the time such foul topics left him feeling dirty and uneasy, but it was so easy to talk about raunchy things with her. While he was always aware of the company he kept and their view of him, she didn't care what _anyone_ thought of her. He could get used to that.

When she finally stopped laughing at him, she looked at the clock behind him and her expression began to darken considerably.

"What's the matter?" he asked, pulling her plate towards him with intent to put it in the dishwasher.

"Tomorrow everything changes," she said, "It all came back to me."

"It won't be so bad," he assured her cheerily, "didn't you have fun tonight? I did."

She had proved to be a good actress, but Okita knew the difference between an act and genuine actions. The time they had spent together here in the kitchen had been real. She had laughed with him, joked with him, and generally enjoyed being around him. He had, naturally, shared the experience with her.

"Yeah but," she shoved her chin into her hands, "tomorrow it's going to be different."

"Why does it have to be different?" he asked, "If we get along half as well as we have tonight, I think we'll have a great life, don't you?"

"Tonight we were friends," she told him with a frown, "tomorrow you will be my husband. A title changes everything."

"It doesn't have to," he protested softly.

"It will," she snapped.

Okita took a small step back and closed his mouth. There she was, building up her walls again. Telling her over and over how fine everything was going to be was not going to magically make it so. They had a good night tonight. He would have to leave it at that for now.

"Are you tired?" he asked, "I can show you one of the guest rooms."

Shousha wasn't ready to turn in just yet, but being away from him might do her some good. She could feel her resentment towards him rising and though her brain was screaming at her to leave him alone, her heart was charging forward blindly. The sooner she had time to herself, the fewer things she could say to hurt him.

"I think I should go to bed," she agreed. It was nearing ten o'clock, not an unreasonable time to want to sleep.

"Follow me," he said, beckoning her as he headed out of the kitchen.

He stopped at the room across from his own and was happy to see that the servants had removed her parcels from the morning's shopping excursion from his room and placed them here. How they had known she'd be staying he had no idea. They were a wonder, those servants.

Shousha peered into the room, but made no movement to enter. She wanted to be away from him, for his own sake, but she wasn't ready to be alone. The face of a certain art director was creeping its way into her mind and she knew that alone, she would do little else but cry and wonder why her life was as it was.

"If you need anything," Okita told her, pointing to his bedroom, "I'm right there. Anything at all."

She offered him a watery smile. "Thanks."

"I'm serious, Shou-chan. Even if you need to freak out on someone, I'll be there." There as a heavy silence before he added, "I'll always be there."

"Don't call me Shou-chan," she said, though the bitterness she had intended was weak. "But thank you."

He grinned. "You're welcome."

"No," she said, "for tonight. Thank you."

He stared at her, staring at him, and his hand twitched. It wanted to settle on the back of her neck. His thumb wanted to run over her bottom lip that was quivering ever-so-slightly. His fingers longed to pull out the pins that held her coiffed hair and explore the dark tresses that would come tumbling down over her shoulders.

His eyes wanted her. They wanted to see more than the tease of skin that her dress was offering. His arms wanted to hold her close, enveloping her tiny frame in his, offering her the peace and comfort she so desperately needed. More than anything, his mouth desired hers. He had never been pulled to a woman with such force, such sudden need that he felt for her. He was thankful for his incredible self control because standing before her, one day before their lives would change forever, all he wanted was _her_. All of her.

And for one brief and fleeting moment, when her pupils became large and her tongue poked out ever so slightly to wet her lips in anticipation, she wanted him too.

xxxx


	12. The Reality of a Union

**Author's Note: **There's a reason I'm not a journalist.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 12**

_ Goodnight._

That was all they had said.

As both Okita and Shousha closed their doors behind them, they internally kicked themselves. He, for wanting her, and she, for wanting him. It wasn't that it was wrong of them; they were about to be married after all, but Okita did not want to exacerbate the already heavy awkwardness of their situation and Shousha simply did not like to lose, especially to herself. Because neither of them had acted upon what they wanted and both of them were regretting wanting anything in the first place, very little sleep was obtained.

At breakfast, Shousha took note of the six, no _seven_ cups of coffee her fiancé practically inhaled as she sat in silence, barely having touched her tea.

"I had fun last night," Okita told her, staring into his once again empty mug. His cheery disposition was returning and his smile was becoming significantly less strained.

"Yeah," she croaked in return, giving her eyes a rub.

It was quarter past eight, a time that normally she would have been up, showered, dressed, and more likely than not, seated in her studio. This morning however, she had been loathe to even rise from her bed.

"We're quite the talk of the town today, you know," Okita said with a grin, eyes shimmering as he slid a newspaper across the table at her. A servant came by, refilling his cup.

Interest piqued, Shousha lifted her heavy head from her open palm to lift up the morning's news.

"_Okita Soushi Returns Home to Wed Troubled Heiress Yamata Shousha,_" she read, letting out a snort. "Well that's unusually polite."

"Polite?" he asked, "they referred to you as _troubled_."

She smiled. "Yes, but I think they really meant trouble_some_. Let's see what else they say. . . '_Okita Soushi arrived in Tokyo just days ago for his union with heiress to the Yamata Corporation, Yamata Shousha. The engagement was shocking, and short: a mere three months, leaving the world to wonder the exact details of the match as Yamata stands to gain nothing from the Okita family, a family whose name has thusfar remained untarnished."_

Placing the paper back down on the table, Shousha frowned. "That was boring."

Okita held back a bubble of laughter beneath his coffee. "I apologize on their behalf. I didn't realize the news journalists were meant for your entertainment."

She sighed, "Generally they have something nasty to write about me. I would like to read some of it before we leave. I won't get this sort of publicity in New York, you know."

"Then you admit to enjoying it?"

"Very much so," she told him with a wicked grin.

"I have something nasty!"

Nearly choking on his drink, Okita turned his head to the third body in the room. Tokio had burst into the dining room, still in her pajamas, waving the early edition of the tabloids. She pushed Shousha's empty plate aside and slapped the edition down with a wide smile.

"It's so nice to finally meet you, by the way," she chirped, flopping into the seat beside her, and pulling it close that she might read over her shoulder.

Shousha flipped furiously through the pages, now fully awake and Okita stood, leaning over the table. "Ladies, we do have appointments to kee-"

"Shhhh!" Shousha hushed, waving her hand in his face as Tokio looked up and shot him a dirty look. His punctuality wasn't about to ruin her very first meeting with her new sister.

"There! There!" Tokio cried, halting Shousha's hand.

"_What Won't She Do: Yamata Shousha Forces Okita Soushi Into Marriage."_

Okita pulled back. "What on Earth-"

"Quiet, Okita!" Shousha barked, continuing on to the article, "_Yamata Shousha, everyone's favourite dysfunctional heiress has trapped wealthy and gentle hearted bachelor Okita Soushi into marriage. The rumors of engagement three months ago shocked the nation, but we refused to believe it. We were wrong, dear reader. _

_ "It has been revealed that Shousha is pregnant(!) This does not surprise us, as her lifestyle is reckless and without caution. It is well known that the Okita family is an honorable and upstanding family, one that undoubtedly would stand by their actions, however irresponsible they may be._

_ "We can not help but wonder, however, just whose child does she carry? After all, at the time of the engagement, it was well known to all that Yamata Shousha was in a committed relationship with renowned art director Katsura Kogoro._

_ "Wasn't she?"_

Okita's face had long since paled, but Shousha couldn't keep the smile from her face.

"That's fucking brilliant," she whispered, sitting back.

Tokio inhaled. "Yeah, I thought it was pretty intense too."

Only Okita failed to see the marvel. "They're saying you're _pregnant_? And-and that I might not be- Do you know what that _means?_"

Shousha tossed a biscuit at him. "Pipe down, you. It's the tabloids. Anyone of importance who reads them does so only for entertainment, not for truth. Your reputation will not be tarnished. Besides, it's a legitimate thought. Shotgun wedding theory and all."

"I'm not concerned about _my_ reputation," he said, lowering himself back into his chair, "I'm worried about-"

"Mine?" she questioned with a sardonic eyebrow.

Tokio laughed, "Really, Sou?"

"It's not funny," he said with a light huff, "you never know who might take it seriously."

"It wouldn't matter if they did," Shousha pointed out. "It's not true. The only people who could possibly be affected by it know it's not true."

"Reading the tabloids again, Tokio?"

Tokio slammed the trashy magazine shut as Hana strolled in.

"Mother, she is a bad influence," Okita said, standing. He knew he was outnumbered. There were three women in his presence that were very likely to turn on him to support each other. It was time he prepared himself for the day and let them to their womanly. . .whatever it was women did together.

Hana laughed. "Who is a bad influence on whom?"

To that, Okita just shook his head with a smile and left the room. They all knew that question need not be answered.

"Nine-thirty, Soushi!" she called after him.

Shousha swallowed. That's right. They had an appointment to register the marriage. To _get married._ They would get married by law, as law decreed, and then they would part. When they came together again, they would have a ceremony, an opulent, traditional, glorious ceremony.

Then they would celebrate.

Or, pretend to. No, Okita would probably celebrate genuinely. It was she who would be acting. She who would be fooling the country into thinking that this match was a good one. _She _would be putting on a show, adding to the crisis that was her identity.

But that was nothing new.

xxxx

There was nothing special about the office in which they registered their marriage. They were gathered, the five of them: Okita, Shousha, Hana, Mori, and of course, Kanako, who watched her daughter's every move with the utmost scrutiny.

As Okita and Shousha stood side by side with the paperwork before them, Shousha's heart beat furiously. She knew that she had to keep calm, that she had to wait at least until she was securely in the car headed back to Okita house, away from her parents, to break down.

He must have sensed her nerves, either that or he expected them. His hand came up to meet hers and when his fingers begged for her, she complied. As much as she didn't want to be stripped of her freedom, there was a strange comfort in the callouses of his palms and she found herself welcoming the gesture. With a smile, he looked over at her and squeezed her hand in his.

The both felt Kanako stiffen behind them.

Once the papers were signed and their names entered into the family registry, Shousha felt no different. Okita felt no different. Were they supposed to? By law they were husband and wife. They should have felt a connection, a shift, or at the very least, _older_, but they didn't.

"Welcome to my family," he told her, turning to face her with a smile.

She returned the smile, just enough to look convincing. "I thought this day would never come."

She had hoped it would never come.

Mori cleared his throat as the group took their leave. "Have you found suitable housing?"

Hand still entwined with his bride's, Okita nodded as they walked into the grand entryway of the municipal building. "Of course."

"Yes," Shousha added, "We have a very lovely apartment in New Mibu."

Kanako let out a disbelieving scoff. "New Mibu? Do tell."

"New Mibu is in New York," Hana clarified, "It is a growing district in the Upper East Side. My husband worked there and Soushi-"

"_New York_?"

The Okitas (including Shousha) blinked.

"Yes, father. New York. It is where we resided for the past three months and it is where we will return in. . ." she looked to Okita, who cleared his throat, or coughed back a laugh, she wasn't sure.

"Three days. We leave Monday morning."

"You can't live overseas!" Mori sputtered, jabbing his finger at Okita's chest, "I have one daughter and now that she is married, I expect _you_ to inherit my company. I can't train you if you're prancing around in _America _of all places!"

Shousha stomped her foot on the ground. "Who the hell are you to tell us where we can or can't live? You can't tell me what to do anymore, and you certainly can't tell _Soushi_ how to live _his _life!_"_

_ "_You never followed orders in the first place," he growled.

"You're damn right I didn't!" she shouted back, "And I'm not about to now, especially now that you've got your eyes on _my_ husband like he's some sort of-"

Her sentence was cut short as he raised his hand to her, but instead of flinching or backing away, she stood strong, clenching Okita's hand.

"You can't hurt me, Mori," she said stiffly. "I dare you to touch me. I fucking _dare _you to try and hit me."

"You slimy piece of shit," he hissed, lowering his hand reluctantly as she smirked at him.

With a sigh, Okita stepped forward. "Yamata-san," he began, "While I do appreciate your enthusiastic desire to pass the inheritance of Yamata Corp to me, please know that the education that I have received, coupled with my work in New York is substantial experience for inheriting, in the unfortunate event I must do so soon.

"Furthermore, I have reviewed the marriage contract with my mother and there is no mention of where we must live. We live more than comfortably overseas, but will fly home to visit, should you so desire. Please understand that although we have grown close in a short time, there is still much we have to learn, and prefer to do so away from the pressure of our respective family obligations."

With a small bow, he led Shousha away from their parents.

"How do yo do that?" she asked, amazed as she hurried to keep his pace.

"Do what?" he asked.

"You leave them speechless every time. It's amazing. You'll have to teach me."

"Oh," he said with a laugh, "that's easy."

Catching the doubting look that she cast him, he stopped walking and caught her chin between his thumb and index finger. With a cheeky grin, he leaned over, brushing his cheek against hers and whispering lightly into her ear.

"Stop cussing."

When her face began to redden, he smiled and pressed his lips against her forehead. He was almost certain she would shove him away so he stroked her chin with his thumb and hummed lightly against her skin.

"Oki-"

"Shhh, they're watching," he murmured.

Damn.

"I'll go now," he said, pulling away, "I've got to get back to get ready for the wedding."

"There's no point in having a wedding," Shousha mumbled, "we're married now."

Okita shrugged, "It will make my mother happy."

"Speaking of," Shousha said, noting that Hana was, in fact, on her way over with the pair of peeved Yamata in tow.

Flashing Shousha a peace sign, Okita hurried out the door. He knew just by his mother's expression that she wanted to ooze congratulations and sentiment onto them. As they were going to be dealing with it until Monday, he thought it only fair that he manage to escape it this once.

"That was a disappointingly chaste farewell," Hana pouted as she came up beside Shousha.

Absently fingering her tingling forehead, Shousha frowned, unsure if it was because of her act, or that she was also disappointed.

"Says he won't kiss me properly until tonight," she muttered, "sly bastard."

To that, Hana smiled and shook her head. "That's Soushi."

xxxx

Preparation for the ceremony began with chaos. Kanako had been in attendance for a mere five minutes before Shousha had pitched a rather ugly fit, kicking her out and leaving Hana, Tokio, and several maids to assist her.

"Really," she huffed as her mother slammed the door, "like she even _cares._"

Hana put two calming hands on her shoulder, easing her onto the padded bench before the vanity, and began combing out her hair.

"This is a big day for her as well, my dear," she reminded her, though the tone in her voice made no implications that she was trying to defend the other party.

"You'd think she'd be a little happier. She's finally getting rid of me."

Tokio picked up a small jar of powder and began to swirl it around with her finger. "Are you nervous? I think I'd be nervous if I were you."

Shousha looked up, much to the dismay of Hana who had been holding her head down, trying to keep her steady.

"Of course not."

"You're lying," Tokio said, setting down the jar when she received a reprimanding look from her mother.

Shousha grit her teeth. Of course she was lying. "I just want this day to end. I want to be in New York, away from everyone."

"You'll have a lot of fun," Tokio went on, examining a comb, "Sou's awesome."

"_Tokio_."

Hana's warning tone caused Tokio to sigh, placing the comb back onto the vanity. "Fine, fine," she muttered, slinking out of the room.

Several hours later, Shousha stood before a floor length mirror, hardly recognizing herself. She was dressed entirely in white, as was customary, with the hood of her wedding kimono sitting gently atop her hair, which had (though no one could see) been combed up into a traditional bridal topknot. A gentle amount of makeup had been laid on her face and they had even gone so far as to dress her eyes with false, but very flattering, lashes.

"It's very beautiful," she said softly, fingering the silk between her fingers. She could count on one hand the number of times she had worn a kimono. She didn't enjoy them, as she craved freedom and movement, something obtained far better in modern clothing.

"It was my mother's," Hana told her, coming up behind her. "I wore it the day I married Katsujiro, each of my daughters wore it on their wedding day, and it is my wish for Tokio to wear it on hers as well."

Shousha didn't know what to say, biting her lip as she stared at their reflection. Hana was so welcoming, so _motherly_, that the emotions she was feeling were difficult to describe. A wedding was a sacred occasion, one that every mother and daughter should look forward to. Her mother didn't care, but this woman did. Hana had, without a second thought, taken her in as her own daughter and Shousha knew, standing there with her, that she was proud.

"You are too kind to me, Hana-san."

With a warm smile, she squeezed Shousha's shoulders. "You may call me mother, if you'd like."

Shousha's bottom lip trembled and she nodded.

"There wasn't a bride who wore this kimono that did not find herself in a wonderful marriage, Shousha. It is good luck."

Shousha wasn't superstitious and she considered things to happen more out of coincidence than luck or fate, but she couldn't help but believe what her mother-in-law was telling her.

"Come now, darling," she said, ushering her from the room. "We don't want to keep your groom waiting now, do we?"

And for the first time, she didn't.

When they arrived at the shrine, Shousha saw that very few people were in attendance., though a great deal of them held cameras and notepads. There would be more at her reception, she knew, but that the ceremony itself would be small and quiet put her much at ease. There was only so much acting she would be able to handle here.

She made her way through the shrine, being careful to remain calm, with an air of joy. She was doing quite well and she was certain that the tabloids would harbor very nice photographs of her, but as the procession ended and she stood before her groom, her smile faded and her breath hitched.

He was beautiful.

Clad in a black kimono and hakama, Okita's appearance hadn't actually changed at all in contrast to her doll-like facade. Still, there was an air about him, not unlike his normal persona, but different still. He was happy, excited, proud. He was _ready_. Ready to take her, a temperamental, immature girl of a woman whom he couldn't say he knew and he didn't know if he could trust, as his wife. Ready to commit himself to her exclusively and entirely, despite the jaggedly rocky cliff of a friendship that they stood on.

Shousha couldn't tear her eyes from him.

"You look like a samurai," she whispered to him, her voice losing its normal cutting edge, replaced with wonder.

"A good one, I hope," he whispered back with a smile.

She blushed slightly and bit her lip playfully. "Yes, a very good one."

Neither of them paid much attention to the ceremony. Maybe they should have, but for all their playacting, they both found themselves enthralled with the other. When they were dismissed as husband and wife, a cheer erupted and without thinking, Okita took her hand. There were cameras flashing and pens scribbling furiously. There was no doubt that many of the journalists here were disappointed in the lack of outbursts from the bride.

She turned to him and with a small grin, pulled him close.

"Should we give them something to write about?" she asked, her tone devious as she soaked in the flashes surrounding them.

"Of course," he replied, leaning close, his lips just a breath away from her own, "every show needs a finale."

Before she could close the distance between them, he pulled away and with a wink, gripped her hand and ran. Surprised, she let out a small cry, but as she hurried after him, she began to laugh.

"Aren't people supposed to run away _before_ the wedding?" she called out, pulling up the hem of her kimono to keep it from dirtying.

"Generally," he replied, "but this way is much more fun."

She wouldn't deny that. As they descended the steps of the shrine and burst from the main gate, Okita turned and scooped her into his arms, diving into the back seat of his car, his driver having been waiting for them.

The couple tumbled into the vehicle and Shousha pushed her hood off her head, laughing.

"That was unexpected," she said, sliding off his lap as he released her from his hold.

"I figured you might want to give them something to speculate," he said, nodding to the driver who began to roll away from the curb.

"It's not much of a scandal, you know," she told him, "we're married now."

"Well yeah," he said shrugging, "but at least we can confuse them. You were supposed to have trapped me into marrying you, right? I think appearing to be eager to have you alone might send thoughts swinging the other way."

Shousha snorted, "_You_ trapped _me_ into marriage?"

"It could happen. You're cute, wealthy, popular, notorious even, and I'll need an heir eventually, yeah? Couple that with an unexpected pregnancy and you've got quite a good story that makes me look pretty terrible."

"They won't believe it," she said, "You're too nice. _Gentle hearted bachelor._"

"Bachelor no longer," he said with a satisfied grin, handing her a glass of champagne and settling back into his seat. He raised his glass to her. "To us and our masterfully wicked plans of deceit and lies that go against everything I intend to stand for."

She smiled back, clinking her glass against his, "To corrupting your sweet and gentle nature."

Okita laughed, shaking his head. "You will be the death of my good name."

Downing the fizzy drink in one unladylike gulp, Shousha raised her empty glass, along with one of her eyebrows.

"One can only hope."

xxxx

**Author's Note: **Yay! They're getting along!

Also, I have yet another new story up because I may or may not be the best/worst. Check it out if you've grown attached to Shousha/Okita.


	13. The Awkwardness of a Night

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 13**

It was well past midnight when the bride and groom made their way back to Shousha's apartment. Neither of them had any real desire to sleep in a hotel and with Okita house in a constant state of hustle and bustle, they had opted to spending their first night together in her small apartment.

This was a good thing, Okita had decided, as on the tail end of the celebration, there were several chips in her mask of affection and her spirit was beginning to wane considerably. Being in a familiar space would be good for her.

"Well that was fun," he said cheerily, setting his overnight bag on the counter.

She grunted in response, brushing past him and heading towards her bedroom. He let out a small sigh and followed after her. He hovered in her doorway for a moment, watching her absently as she reached behind her to unzip the dress she had worn to the reception.

"Why are you watching me?" she asked, pulling on a navy camisole sprinkled with silver stars over her head. Despite her harsh tone, she wasn't making any effort to cover her lower half, clad in nothing but black lace panties as she dug through a drawer in search of bottoms.

"I don't know," he replied, shrugging slightly, "I suppose I'm wondering what happens now."

"I'm not going to have sex with you," she bit off, yanking on a pair of butter yellow bloomers with white polka dots.

He let out a small laugh and leaned up against the door frame. "I know that," he told her, "you're tired."

"And I hate you," she added.

So they were back to that. He had imagined that they might at least be able to say they were friends after these two days. They'd shared several moments that he had been _certain_ were genuine. As someone who prided himself in his ability to decipher people, Okita thought it safe to assume that he had been right and due to her exhaustion, she was pulling back.

"I'm going to bed," she stated, pulling back the covers of her queen sized bed, "go away."

"Alright," he said, stepping into the room, despite the fiery glare that she was sending his way. As she stood there, arms crossed and waiting for him to let her be, he planted a soft kiss on her cheek. "Goodnight."

When he turned and headed out the door, Shousha bit down on her lip. "Wait." He paused, looking back at her and she let her shoulders fall. "I'm sorry."

He gave her a light smile and faced her. "Don't be sorry, Shou-chan. It's been a long day. You should get some sleep."

"What I mean is that you don't have to sleep out there." Okita's brow raised slightly and she looked away awkwardly. "I don't want to be like my parents."

"Are you sure?" he asked, "I don't mind if you need time."

"Do you want to share the bed or not?" she snapped.

He jumped, but then relaxed and moved a couple steps backwards, shutting the door. "Okay."

She rolled her eyes and sat on the bed, watching him as he undressed, not having bothered to change from his traditional clothing. Secretly she was glad for this. He really was a vision in all that fabric.

"I hope you don't sleep naked," she mumbled, to which he laughed.

"Only upon request."

This earned him another eye roll and once he was down to nothing but his boxer briefs, Shousha refused to look at him for fear that his lower half might have been as perfectly and gently sculpted as the rest of him and give her yet another reason to like him. She wasn't going to take that chance.

When he crawled under the covers with her he smiled, but when he laid his head down on the pillow beside her, she let out a pained yelp.

"No!" she cried, pulling the pillow to her chest. She had been doing so well, standing so strong, but this crossed a line. Breathing into it, she inhaled the familiar scent of Katsura's shampoo.

Okita sat up, alarmed. "Are you alright?"

"Sleep here," she demanded, climbing over him, still clutching the pillow. Wedging herself between him and the wall, she pushed on his body, demanding he move over.

"Shou-chan, what's the matter?"

"You can't sleep on this side," she told him quietly, bottom lip trembling, "this is. . .this is Kogoro's. . ."

He understood. It was vastly unnerving being between sheets that once belonged to his father's murderer. He had half a mind to request that she change them, or even just sleep out in the living room anyway. When Shousha pulled her knees her chest, however, he felt guilty, and when her shoulders began to shake with her silent sobs, he knew that feeling awkward for one night was a petty sacrifice in comparison to what she had been forced to surrender.

"It will be alright, Shousha," he whispered to her back, pulling all of her hair towards him, "It's going to be okay."

Twisting slightly, he grabbed the hairbrush on the desk next to the bed and began to brush out the product that had been used to keep her hair in its elaborate state. When she didn't object, he propped himself up on one elbow and continued, enjoying the feel of her silky tendrils between his fingers.

This was something he had always done for his sisters, something that he knew he would continue to do if he still lived at home. It had started out as a joke, Mitsu and Kin poking fun at their five year old brother and seeing just how many girly tasks they could con him into doing in one day. The next day, little Soushi had asked them if they needed their hair brushed again, having been so proud to help his big sisters.

For a while, he brushed their hair every day. It was fun for him, and Mitsu and Kin both found his touch to be soothing. As they grew older, he used this method to dry their tears from bullies, broken bones, and busted hearts. When Tokio had entered the family, she too sought comfort in this ritual and for nearly a year, it was the only way she was able to fall asleep.

And now, after eighteen years of practicing the calming art of hair brushing, he managed to turn Shousha's stifled squeaks and fierce inhales into soft sniffles and eventually, a soft rhythmic breathing.

She was fast asleep when he put the brush away and gathered all of her hair in both of his hands. Deftly, he tied it into a braid and laid it on her pillow, wondering if it would be wavy in the morning. Mitsu's always had been. Kin's hair did nothing but remain straight and Tokio's hair was so curly already, braiding it only straightened it out.

Settling down onto his own pillow, he watched her breathe, wondering if he'd be able to sleep tonight. Since the existence of the Shinsengumi, he hadn't slept with another person. Shared his bed, but never slept. He was far too alert. It was something he would have to learn to grow accustomed to.

Sure enough, it wasn't until six a.m., when Shousha rose and stepped into the shower did he finally allow his body to drift off into a slumber for more than ten minutes.

When he awoke again, it was nearing eleven o'clock. Five hours wasn't so bad. It was significantly less than he had hoped for, but it would have to do.

Pulling on a tee shirt, he wandered out of the bedroom, hoping that his new wife wouldn't be too put off by the fact he hadn't bothered with pants. He wasn't awake enough for jeans. To his surprise, however, the woman is question wasn't in sight.

"Shousha?" he called out, having checked the living room and the dining area. He poked his head into her studio, but even that was empty. He did notice a canvas on the easel with wet paint. She'd been in there earlier.

Re-entering the kitchen and dining room, he scanned the counter for a note, but found nothing. Then something caught his eye, something he hadn't considered the first time. There were dishes in the sink. She had cooked.

Shousha didn't eat breakfast.

He cast his gaze towards the dining room table and his heart fluttered. At the head of the table was a single place setting. Before it, a covered tray. He stepped forward, suddenly nervous that he might be seen, and when he lifted the cover, his breath caught.

A full American breakfast was laid out: pancakes, sausage, bacon, eggs, and even a parfait from the cafe down the street. On the lip of the tray, in beautiful calligraphy rivaling that of even his mothers, was a note.

_For you_.

Next to the tray, a full pot of coffee.

Excited, Okita put the cover aside and began to pile the food onto his plate, but when he noticed how cold it was, his heart sank. She probably hadn't expected him to sleep so late. Luckily, she owned a microwave. He only hoped she didn't walk in on him re-heating her hard work. In his underwear, no less.

With fifteen second left on the timer, he heard her key in the lock and he stomped his foot, cursing silently. Murphy's law had been present quite a bit lately and he was getting tired of it. He really didn't need any help making a mess of this marriage.

When she stepped up into the house, her eyes widened slightly and her gaze traveled from the steaming plate of food in his hand, to his black undergarments and bare feet.

"Good morning?" she said curiously.

Okita put the plate down on the counter and began searching through the drawers, looking for a fork, forgetting there was one on the table. Noticing this, Shousha raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, opening the drawer next to the dishwasher and handing him the utensil he was so desperately trying to distract himself with.

"I was nervous when you weren't here," he told her truthfully, returning to the seat she had set for him, and taking note that her hair did indeed have a slight wave to it.

Tossing her purse into a chair, she stood, watching him eat. "Did you think I'd run away?"

"I'd hoped not," he replied, taking a sip of his frigid coffee, ignoring the fact that it was still black.

"I wouldn't do that you know," she said, sitting down. "You promised to help me destroy my family and I promised to marry you. I won't run."

Halting the bacon that was about to enter his mouth, Okita smiled at her. "I'm glad."

Tapping her toes against the floor, Shousha looked around. They'd be spending the next few days at Okita house and after that, they'd be in New York, in Okita's apartment. The idea was daunting, but not as much as it had been two days ago. Truthfully, she just wanted to get it over with so she could finally adjust to her new life instead of all this shuffling around and waiting.

"Your sisters don't like me," she said flatly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, "Tokio's your biggest fan."

"You know what I mean."

Okita sighed. During the festivities, Mitsu and Kin _had_ been cold. Mitsu in her calm and elegant way had done little to welcome Shousha into the family, but Kin had hardly even made an attempt to mask her scorn.

_You don't deserve him_, she had told Shousha.

"Quite honestly," he began, refilling his mug of horridly lukewarm coffee, "they can deal with it."

Taken slightly aback, Shousha stared at him.

"They have no right to pick on you," he said. "They know nothing about you."

"Neither do you," she pointed out.

Putting his cup down forcefully, he turned to look at her. "Will you stop saying that?"

"Well it's true!"

"No," he said, "No it isn't. I know so much about you."

When she gave him a challenging look, he motioned to his food. "For example: You don't eat breakfast, but you know how to cook it."

Shousha snorted. "So?"

"When you're scared or angry, you're mean and nasty, but once you've calmed down, you try to make up for the things you've said. You're a good painter, but you lack confidence. You're a great actress, but you lack stamina. You hardly weigh anything. Your hair is straight, but it gets wavy when it's been braided. You have a bad temper, pretty eyes, and when you smile, one side of your mouth turns up more than the other."

She sat before him, jaw slack.

"It's really cute," he added.

"Why would you bother to notice that?" she asked, an overwhelming feeling of appreciation coming over her. No one had ever mentioned small details that they enjoyed about her. Then again, there weren't many people who enjoyed her. Period.

"I can't help it," he said, taking a spoonful of his parfait, "Now you. I bet you know more about me than you think."

Biting her bottom lip, she thought for a moment. "You're kind," she admitted, "patient and kind. You put your family before yourself and though you'd much rather laugh, you know exactly when to be professional and diplomatic."

Okita grinned at her. "See? Anything else?"

"Yes," she said, turning up her palms to examine them, "your hands are rough. But not like mine. Yours are...calloused."

To this, he gave her a questioning look. "Does this bother you?"

"I think it's weird," she told him, "the rest of you is so clean and smooth. Why have you ruined your hands?"

He laughed, mimicking her actions and observing his own hands. "Well, I was president of the kendo club in high school, and university too. That was a while ago, though, so I think I'd have to associate these blisters with rowing."

Shousha sat back. "Rowing?"

He nodded. "I have a boat on the river."

It was true and he was glad for it. In high school he had discovered the crew team and while he had enjoyed the sport, he had grown to find rowing alone far more enjoyable. It was one of his escapes. There were few things he enjoyed more than taking his boat out in the black of night and rowing wherever the wind decided to take him.

Aside from leisure, it allowed him to maintain his upper body strength, and have a reason for his hands to be the way they did, even if much of his skin damage could be blamed on the near constant grip he held on his pistols. It made for an excellent cover.

"I like water," Shousha said, turning to stare out the window, "bridges especially. I'd love to jump one day, just to feel the rush."

"You'd die," he gasped.

"I know," she mused, "that's why I haven't done it."

He relaxed, following her gaze out into the bright day. "You could bungee."

She shook her head, "No, that's not the point. Bungee jumping doesn't hold any excitement for me because I _know_ that I'm safe. That's what's so beautiful about standing on a bridge. You can tease death."

"Is that why you paint?"

"No," she said, "I paint because there are no rules."

xxxx

Shousha's stay at Okita house was not enjoyable.

Okita himself was busy preparing for their trip back to the states and had also made a point of shutting himself in the library so he could get some bank work done. As much as she didn't want to hang around him all day, she also wasn't too keen on being left up to her own devices.

Hana had quickly swooped in, inviting her to lunch in her study, and being sure to keep her new daughter-in-law distracted with meaningless gossip and plans for remodeling several rooms of the house. It worked, and soon enough Shousha found herself opening up and engaging in genuine conversation.

When the doors to the office had opened to reveal Mitsu, she felt her stomach drop.

"Mother," she greeted Hana sweetly, "I apologize for interrupting. I didn't realize you had company."

"Don't be silly, dear," she replied, "Shousha and I were just enjoying some lunch."

"Yes," Mitsu replied with a strained smile, "then I suppose I should cancel our reservation? It is Saturday."

Hana peeked at her agenda quickly and let out a small 'oh' of surprise. She and Mitsu had been meeting for lunch every Saturday since her eldest had entered university.

"I can leave," Shousha said, standing.

"It's quite alright," Mitsu protested in such a lovely way that Shousha was almost convinced she actually _didn't_ mind.

"No, I should probably find Ok-Sou. I haven't seen him in a few hours."

Slipping from the study with a forced grin, Shousha wandered down a few halls, taking in the vastness of the house. It was nothing like Yamata house's cold feeling. It was soft and, she soon found, very fun to get lost in.

After nearly an hour and a half of exploring, she found herself back at the main entryway. When she decided to head down to the kitchen (a place she knew exactly how to get to), she was intercepted by the one person she had hoped she would never see again.

Kin.

"Going somewhere, princess?"

Raising her chin, Shousha steeled herself, determined to attempt politeness. It didn't work.

"I'm hungry," she replied.

The short (though still taller than Shousha), tough woman crossed her arms, refusing to move from her spot and daring Shousha to pass her.

Irritated, Shousha too put her arms over her chest, glowering at Kin. "What's your problem?" she snapped.

"I told you," she replied, "Sou's too good for you."

"Jealous?" she asked, her tone haughty as she raised an eyebrow. "Are you upset that your precious little brother is choosing to whisk me away overseas instead of staying here with you?"

"You don't even like him, you little bitch," Kin seethed in reply.

"You're right," Shousha said, flashing a grin, "I don't."

Before she could see Kin's fist being hurled towards her face, Shousha was on the ground, spitting out blood. Wincing, she ran her cut tongue over her teeth, making sure they were all still in place. They were, thankfully, and she stood, pulling her hair back into a high pony tail.

"So that's how it's going to be?" She'd been in a fair amount of fights in her day, but even as willing as she was to get physical with Okita's sister, she knew that she didn't stand a chance.

"I will kill you," Kin growled, lunging at her.

Shousha yelped and darted out of the way, but not before Kin swept her legs out from under her, sending her to the floor once more. Flipping herself over, she managed to land a punch to the side of Kin's face. Another fist collided with her cheekbone and she drew up he knee, knocking the wind from her new sister's lungs.

For several minutes there was punching, kicking, cursing, and even a few bites from Shousha, who decided that if she wasn't going to win this altercation, she could afford to play dirty. None of the servants seemed to want to get involved, knowing both Kin's temper and Shousha's reputation, but soon hurried footsteps could be heard and much to Shousha's relief, Kin was lifted off of her.

Okita knelt before her, his eyes wide with concern, and he used the hem of his tee shirt to wipe the blood from the side of her mouth.

"Are you alright?" he asked, pulling out the elastic that was now barely holding her hair back. When she nodded, he whipped his face towards his sister.

"Really, Kin? _Really?"_

Offended, she crossed her arms. "What do you mean '_reall_y_'_? Don't even try to tell me you're taking _her _side."

Okita went to work putting Shousha's hair back into her standard low tie and shook his head. "She is my wife, Kin."

"And I am you _sister."_

_ "_Yes," he replied cheerfully, "and as my sister you should know and accept the fact that I'm not a kid anymore."

"He married me," Shousha spat, "and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Shut up you little tramp!"

Shousha sprang to her feet, hissing, but Okita caught her gently and held her over his shoulder.

"That's enough, Shou-chan," he chastised softly before turning to his sister, "And Kin, stop provoking her. Mother will be upset."

"That's right," she mumbled dejectedly, "mommy's new pet."

Shousha began to thrash, but Okita's hold on her was strong and she was unable to do much of anything.

"Put me down!" she cried, pounding her fists against his back as he carried her off towards his bedroom.

Nudging the door closed with his foot, he finally complied, setting her down on the bed.

"Shou-chan," he started, letting out a breath of air and thrusting his hands into his hair, "can you please just control your temper until we leave tomorrow? Please?"

"She started it," she pouted.

"I believe it," he said, giving her a small smile, "Kin antagonizes for sure, but please, just ignore her."

Shousha frowned, crossing her arms and focusing her attention on the television she had turned on. He watched her for a few minutes, determining that she wasn't hurt badly, just frustrated. He didn't blame her. She'd been tossed around for the past four days with no footing on the world around her.

"I'm going back to work," he said quietly, "can you stay in here for a couple of hours?"

"Yeah I guess," she replied, flicking through the channels without paying much attention to what was airing.

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

She wasn't so hungry anymore.

Giving her another hopeful smile, he left her alone. He wasn't gone ten minutes before there was a knock at the door.

"What do you want now?" she demanded.

"It's me," came a small voice for the other side before the door opened and Tokio poked her head in. "Can I come in?"

"Oh," Shousha said, surprised, "yeah, of course."

"Great," she said with a smile, balancing two bowls against her body as she maneuvered herself around the door and into the room. "I saw what happened with Kin."

Shousha's hand traveled up to her cheek which she was sure had a nasty bruise already.

"She really laid into you, so I brought you some ice cream."

To this, Shousha couldn't help but roll her eyes. "You people and your dairy products."

Tokio shrugged, sitting opposite her on the floor and setting the sundaes between them. "It's sort of a tradition for us. My Papa always made them for us when we were upset."

Shousha smiled secretly. She knew this, recalling the tiny sundae Okita had made for her when Katsura had ended their relationship.

"You all seem like you were really attached to him," Shousha said, digging into the frozen treat. She wasn't going to let it go to waste this time.

"My Papa?"

She nodded, "Yeah, Soushi and your mom speak very highly of him."

Tokio looked down at her ice cream, swirling it around a bit. "That's because he was my favourite person ever. He was my dad, you know?"

"But he wasn't," Shousha pointed out bluntly. "You're adopted, right?"

"That doesn't matter," Tokio replied defensively. "We don't have to be related by blood for him to be my dad. He was my father in every way."

"Why?"

The younger of the two stared ahead, unbelieving that her idol was incapable of understanding how family worked.

"My Papa was very busy," she said, "he worked all the time, but he always made time for his family. When he came home, we'd go out all together, and then there would be special days just reserved for one of us. Mama always got the most of them, but he always spent one on one time with his kids. Even me."

"What did you do?"

"Anything I wanted," Tokio replied, smiling at the memories, "He called our days 'Tokio Time' and I got the rights to him for a full twenty-four hours. Sometimes we just hung out at home and played games or went to the park. I remember one day he sat outside the dressing room of at least fifteen different stores while I tried on gowns for one of my high school dances."

She sighed, "and he never complained. He would just tell me how happy he was that he got to spend time with me. It didn't matter what we were doing or where we were. When we were together, I always felt the happiest."

Shousha leaned back, "what about your real parents?"

Tokio shrugged. "My mother died when I was so little, I don't even remember her. As for Kojuro, I don't really know what happened to him."

"What do you mean?"

Gathering her thick curls into a bun, she pulled a hair fork from her back pocket and stabbed it into the locks to keep them from her face.

"The therapist I had as a kid told me that I've repressed the memories of how I came to this house. And you know what? I'm totally cool with that. If my brain has shut out that time, it must have been really horrifying. I love the life Papa and Sou gave me. I don't think I'd want bad memories around to ruin the image I have of myself, you know?"

Shousha did know. All too well. Her entire life was filled with bad memories and that had more of an influence on her than she cared to admit.

"I mean, I remember the types of things that Kojuro did, the sort of life I had before, but the turning point is gone."

"You're lucky," Shousha told her, "I wish I could repress my entire existence."

"You're lucky too," Tokio said, crossing her legs and leaning forward on her elbows, "You're married to Sou. He's going to make you so happy. That's what he does, just like Papa. He makes people happy."

Shousha's mouth turned up slightly, "You think so?" She already had an inkling, but the ever present self-conflict she harbored refused to allow her to accept it.

"Oh, I know it. Just you wait. When we get back to New York and you guys settle in, you'll see. He's the nicest guy you will ever meet."

Shousha held her spoon just before her mouth. "We?"

Tokio's eyes lit up then and her entire face grinned. "Sou didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I'm going with you!"

No, he hadn't told her. Still, she found herself not minding. In fact, Shousha was relieved. She liked Tokio, and it was painfully obvious that Tokio liked her. She didn't think it would be too much of a demand on the powers that be to wish for a friendship with the excitable girl with an affinity for dairy products.

Suddenly, marrying into the Okita family felt like it might have been a good thing after all.

xxxx


	14. The Surprise of a Mission

**Author's Note: **You've all been waiting so patiently, and I've been squirming in my seat, waiting for this. So here it is.

It's also sort of funny to remember that once upon a time, Saitou was in his twenties.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 14**

Saitou Hajime sat in a stiff leather chair in front of a desk piled high with papers awaiting the signature of a man too important to find the time to do so. This wasn't his office. If it were, he would be _behind_ the desk, scribbling away and barking orders at his secretary, sending the poor woman into a panic every six minutes and thirteen seconds.

If this were his office, there would be no photographs smiling up at him from the desk, or laughing behind his back. The wall would have one clock, not twelve, and there would most certainly not be any useless trinkets from his travels.

But this was not his office. His office was down the hall, nestled between the booming chaos of movie posters and rock concerts that was Harada's, and the classical and culturally rich art gallery that was Hijikata's.

The room he was sitting in at the moment, belonged to his boss, the ruthless killer, and mastermind behind all of their plans and goals, the severely disorganized family man with laughing crow's feet. Kondo Isami.

As he sat there awaiting Kondo's arrival, he contemplated why he had been called in to begin with. Busy juggling the bank, the Shinsengumi, _and_ the remains of Tokugawa, he barely had time for their morning meetings, never mind a private chat. It wasn't likely that Saitou was in some sort of trouble; he followed their codes, did as commanded, and never made a complaint. His marksmanship was impeccable and his numbers were steadily rising.

"Ah, Saitou!"

The man in question looked to the doorway where Kondo stood with a cup of coffee and a half eaten calzone. He strolled in, looking desperately for a place to put down his lunch, settling on a stack of papers and mumbling that he'd have the secretary run off more copies later.

"Kondo-sama," Saitou greeted.

"You've been hard at work, as usual."

"I do what I can for our cause, sir," he replied.

Kondo smiled, pulling out a folder from a drawer in the filing cabinet to his left. "Hard at play too, I saw. The girl on your arm last night was quite pretty."

Saitou stiffened. "Beauty has no use when it is not accompanied by intelligence," he said sharply, "last night was an act of charity."

"Ah," his leader replied with understanding, "so it seems that your father is still using you as a bribe."

Saitou's hands folded in his lap, but he didn't respond. He didn't have to. It was well known that his father made false promises of marriage to win the favor of companies he sought. Not being a member of the Tokugawa himself, his son being a leader of the Shinsengumi was leverage enough.

"That is not why I've called you here today," Kondo went on, pushing back the executive chair and lowering himself into it. "I have a mission for you."

Saitou sat back in surprise. Missions were discussed as a group.

"You are most likely aware that Okita returns today with his new bride. There is something, however, that until recently, I had dismissed."

The golden eyed man remained silent, allowing him to continue.

"His youngest sister is also with him," Kondo said, leveling his gaze.

"The Takagi girl?"

Kondo's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Though Takagi blood may course through her veins, she is just as much an Okita as the rest of them."

"My apologies, sir," Saitou replied smoothly.

Nodding, Kondo sat back. "She will be attending university here in the city. She is studying to be a cardiovascular surgeon, if I'm not mistaken."

Letting out a low whistle, Saitou reached for a cigarette. "That kid, a surgeon?"

"Don't you dare light that, and yes. She's grown since the last time you saw her I imagine, and she is very dedicated to her studies.

"How does this involve me?"

"She'll need protection," Kondo replied, leaning forward. "Okita's love for his sisters is no secret and Katsura is a smart enemy. I believe that if he aims for devastation, he would begin with her."

Saitou put the cigarette to his mouth, enjoying the flavor the the tobacco against his tongue. "Is this school of hers unsafe?"

"The school is very well protected," Kondo replied, "and that is why I don't trust it. Katsura knows what he's doing. He will strike simply _because_ we believe her to be safe."

That was a point that couldn't be argued.

"I've arranged for everything. You're no stranger to undercover work, so I believe this should be quite simple." he paused, handing him the folder, "You've been enrolled in the master's program for accounting. There is your class schedule, your student ID, and behind it, a copy of her information, along with the key and combination to her dormitory, should you need to use it."

"And the security?"

Kondo raised an eyebrow. "As usual, there are several inches of clearance. You should have no issue."

Saitou nodded, tucking the folder under his arm. "I'll have to be adjusting my hours here then, I presume?"

"Nonsense. As you have no dealings with the public, we have set it up so you can work from school. A man of your intelligence has little need to sit in class and actually listen."

A ghost of a smile graced his lips then and he stood. 'Thank you Kondo-sama."

Kondo picked up his calzone as he leaned back in his chair. "Best hurry along, Saitou. Little Tokio arrives in," he stopped, checking his watch, "thirty five minutes."

Saitou had never moved so quickly. It was lucky for him that he was a man who was always prepared and had a black shirt, dress boots, and a disassembled gun in the closet in his office at all times. He had learned to keep this handy, as it was often that he was sent on missions with little notice.

He arrived at the university with little time to spare, and headed towards Tokio's dormitory building. It was a co-ed building and with all the hustle and bustle of students moving into them, he had no issue getting in.

A woman walked by, a beautiful creature, and his eyes followed her silently as she made her way past him and down the hall. There was a chilling confidence in her posture but wondrous curiosity in her large, observing eyes that swept her surroundings.

Though Saitou didn't dally much with women, not interested in the distraction they often posed, he _was_ a twenty-four year old male and did very much enjoy _looking_ at the jewels of the opposite sex, should a worthy specimen pass him by.

Returning to the task at hand, he opened up his folder, scanning the information for Tokio's room. He'd find a place to wait up there, and observe her from a casual distance. He walked towards the elevator, slightly disappointed that the small beauty had chosen the stairs, but shrugged it off and made his ascent.

College dormitories were strange places, but of all he buildings he had seen, this one was the most opulent. Tokio must have grown into quite the princess, he mused, if mommy had spent the small fortune that was room and board here.

Taking a seat on a lightly padded bench, with Tokio's dorm in clear sight, he opened the folder again, reaching for her ID. The heavy door to the stairs thudded open and Saitou's jaw dropped.

It couldn't be.

Looking frantically from the ID to the gorgeous woman from the lobby, he looked for any sign that the two were not the same. How could it have been that the frizzy haired, pimple faced, scrawny thirteen year old girl that called herself Okita's sister had grown into such a-

No. It didn't matter. As he had stated before, beauty meant nothing without intelligence. She may have been accepted into the pre-med program because of her wealth, but she would be tested, and without the proper marks, she'd be kicked out. There was no need for him to get upset about it.

Even though he had been assigned as her secret protector from any trick that Katsura might have up his sleeve, a different sort of defensive feeling began to rise up in his chest. If she had become such a beautiful girl, there was no doubt that she would have many boys tripping over themselves to gain her affections.

But there were some boys that weren't so mushy and weren't so stupid. There were some boys, especially at this age, that would do most anything to coerce a naive foreigner into their beds. As Okita was Saitou's best friend, his wingman back in their own college days, he had a duty, by the laws of brotherhood, to protect the little sister from exactly that.

Saitou suddenly realized that as far as Tokio was concerned, Choshu threats were the least of his worries.

xxxx

Okita and Shousha stood outside of the mammoth skyscraper that was his apartment building. The bellboy had taken up their things and the driver had rolled away with a cheery congratulations, leaving the two of them alone. Even Tokio was already gone, settling into her new university.

With a soft inhale, Okita reached for her hand, and to his surprise, she welcomed him.

"Are you nervous?" he asked, feeling her fingers tighten around his own.

"I'll be okay," she breathed.

"We can move if you don't like it," he told her, guiding her inside, "and you should know that I've arranged for Ta-chan to be dropped off tomorrow. He's been in the good care of Harada-san."

She nodded, smiling slightly. She missed that dog more than words could say.

The apartment building was nothing like the one she had shared with Katsura. This resembled a hotel, with doormen, concierge, lobby, and all sorts of maps and directions leading to things such as swimming pools, banquet halls, and fitness centers. Katsura's building had been stark, housing six giant open floor plans with industrial warehouse doors.

As the mirrored elevator opened to the twenty-third floor, Shousha felt significantly out of place. She could feel her husband's confidence, his routine. This was his life, and now it was also hers. He understood his place in the world of the wealthy and he took it up with pride. He knew he was deserving of the marble hall they stepped onto, but accepted it quietly while she inwardly dragged her heels.

"Hey, Mr. Okita!"

Okita paused, key just before its lock, and smiled at a tall brown haired man, hanging out of the door next to theirs.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ashford!"

Jeremy Ashford, an honest, yet sometimes too curious young man with a mind for investments, gave a wave to Shousha and then looked back to Okita.

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

To this, Okita smiled gently. "She isn't my girlfriend, Mr. Ashford, she's my wife."

Jeremy gasped at that and then laughed, "No way! So that's where you've been. Off getting yourself hitched, huh?" he then looked to Shousha and gave her a thumbs up. "You got yourself a good man, Mrs. Okita. A real good man."

Shousha looked up to Okita, "What is he saying?"

Okita gave a small chuckle, "Mr. Ashford, I'm afraid Shousha doesn't speak very much English."

With a hand held up in apology, he receded back into his own home. "Congratulations then. I'll see you later."

"He was just congratulating us," Okita told Shousha as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Are all Americans that nosy?" she asked, placing her purse on the black marble of the kitchen counter.

"I've made many friends, Shou-chan," he replied, "they are only making conversation."

She nodded and began to take in her new home. It was warm, and inviting, despite its decided lack in anything that could have been labeled as 'decor'. The woods were dark and masculine, but the walls were light, tan with a warm tone. The rooms, from what she could see, were large, but not vast or overwhelming. Everything was simply _comfortable._

"Like I said, we can move if you don't like it."

"No," she whispered, "this is good."

A smile broke out on his face and he dropped her hand, holding up a finger and darting out of sight. When he returned, he was carrying a gift.

"I got you something!" he said proudly.

Eyes widening, Shousha pulled out one of the high bar stools at the counter. He set it down before her, grinning from ear to eat and motioning for her to open it.

When the wrapping fell away, she sat back and looked at him.

"A computer?"

It was a strange gift to receive, especially since she didn't use them very much. Social networking didn't interest her and whatever research she needed to do was usually best done at art libraries.

"Let me explain," he said, leaning over to open the top of the notebook and entering a password at the login screen. "Through several of my contacts, I've arranged it so that all of your parents correspondence is tracked _inside_ of Yamata Corp. Any information regarding future investments or trades is then sent directly to a program we've had installed onto this computer. E-mails will come through as exact copies and all phone conversations have been recorded and will be converted into an mp3 file for your listening pleasure. You will also possess all phone numbers that have been used in any Yamata transaction."

Shousha stared at the screen before her, blinking with two unread messages. She had not expected him to take her desire to destroy Yamata Corp so seriously, yet he had.

"I thought this might make it easier for you to continue with your work, even overseas."

"I don't know what to say."

"Well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I do have one more surprise. Come with me."

He took her hand again, pulling her gently off the stool, and led her down the hallway, stopping before a closed door.

"Open it."

With a suspicious sideways glance, she turned the knob, and pushed it open. When she stepped inside, her breath caught. Unable to stop herself, she brought her hands up over her mouth, and squeezed her eyes closed. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't.

"The room dimensions are a little different," Okita said softly, coming up beside her, "and I didn't have a lot of time, but I thought this might make you feel a bit more at home."

Shousha was speechless. Standing in an exact replica of her own studio, she couldn't come up with a single remark. Everything had been moved from Tokyo to here. Her couches, her plants, even the various CD cases that had been scattered around. Everything was in its place. And in the center of it all, was the painting she had begun after cooking him breakfast.

"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head, "why would you do this?"

Okita bit down on his lip, "I'm sorry. I thought this would make you smile."

Shousha let out a breath of air. "I want to smile, but the rest of me wants to cry."

Though he had never experienced it himself, he understood her conflict. She was grateful to him, even if she wouldn't ever say so. It wasn't because she was too proud, but because as she had said, she didn't understand. He doubted anyone had gone to any lengths to do anything truly meaningful for her and she didn't know how to respond.

"You can cry if you want to," he said gently, placing one hand carefully on her elbow, "I'll be here."

She pulled away sharply, wiping her eyes and spinning to face him. "I'm not some weepy little girl, you know," she bit off, causing him to smile.

"I know that, Shou-chan," he laughed, reaching behind the easel to where he had made sure the movers had placed a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Shall we celebrate?" he asked.

Shousha looked at him flatly and he shook his head, pouring the deep burgundy liquor into the wide mouthed glass.

"I have no intention of getting you drunk," he told her with a small chuckle, "drunk sex isn't any fun."

Calming, Shousha accepted the glass with a raised brow, and lowered herself onto her very favourite stool, thankful that it, of all things, had arrived unharmed.

"You admit to having had drunken sex?" she asked, interested, "you don't seem the type."

Happy that her edginess was disappearing, he pulled over a shorter stool and sat facing her, cheeks warming a bit. She always did seem most interested in things that flustered him.

"Once," he replied, "in college."

"Any juicy details?"

He gave her a look that clearly said no, but when the corner of her mouth turned up in a feline grin, he sighed.

"_No_," he said, laughing behind his glass.

Taking a sip, Shousha grinned at him in return. "You're shy, aren't you?"

Okita lowered his wine, tilting his head. "Shy?"

"You don't like to talk about intimacy," she pointed out.

With a roll of his eyes, he leaned forward. "It is not the subject matter, Shou-chan, it's your approach. You always seem to catch me off guard."

Tapping her toes against the bottom rung of her stool, she smiled wickedly, "That's because you're shy."

"I am not shy," he protested.

It didn't matter whether he was or wasn't shy. She realized in this moment that she didn't care. She enjoyed watching his eyes widen in surprise and his cheeks flush with heat because of the things that _she_ said. He may have flustered easily, but he was fun to fluster. Best of all, he didn't mind her teasing. He rose to the opportunity, as if he wanted to give her the chance to find amusement at his expense.

As the minutes turned into hours, the sun set below the horizon and when the moon rose high in the night sky, there were three empty wine bottles littering the floor of Shousha's new studio.

Lounging on one of the couches, Okita's feet were resting on the arm and Shousha had perched herself on the back, using his bent knees as a footstool. There was a light haze of pink across his cheeks, but as he had not had any more than three glasses and held his liquor very well, he felt only the slight dizziness of inebriation.

The same could not be said for his wife, who, without noticing, had poured herself the better half of the last two bottles and was now giggling like a fool, unable to keep steady.

"Do you hate me, Shousha?" he asked, arm draped over his eyes, "I don't want you to hate me."

"What?" she asked, staring at him and squinting her eyes, trying to bring him into focus.

Pushing himself into an upright position, Okita tucked his knees in and knelt up to rest his arms on her lap.

"You always tell me that you hate me," he muttered, "and I don't-"

He was stopped by her hands on the side of his head, though he had no doubt she had aimed for his his cheeks.

"No," she whispered, sliding down the leather to kneel at his level, "no, no no. I don't."

He smiled, "I'm glad."

"You know," she said, bringing her face close to his and using her thumbs to explore the soft skin that covered his cheekbones, "you're actually really cute."

"You're drunk," he countered, "and by your own fault."

She nodded, a toothy grin spreading across her features. "I know."

Okita wasn't sure if she knew just how intoxicated she was. Though it had taken her several hours, she had ingested quite a bit of alcohol and knowing that she wasn't much of a drinker, he doubted she would remember much of their conversations tomorrow morning.

"I wanted to kiss you, Sou."

Face still in her grip, he looked at her questioningly.

"The night before our wedding," she said, "I wanted you."

Pulling back, he lowered her hands and stood. "I think it's time you went to bed, Shou-chan."

Her tone was becoming steadily more sultry and her gaze was flicking from his face to his belt buckle. If there was one risk he was _never_ going to take, it would be this one. Where it was true that bridges were being crossed and new roads built, she still harbored a terrifyingly unpredictable temper and a rationale too irrational to deal with sober, never mind under the influence.

Planting her feet on the floor, she rose and gave him a once over, followed by a cheeky grin.

"Will you be coming with me?"

The alcohol coursed through his blood, whipping through his body and settling in at the most inconvenient place. As both desire and inebriation teased his judgement, he felt his slacks tighten around his groin and his head became filled with wild fantasies about what this new wife of his may or may not be willing to do to (or rather, with) him while in their shared state of disarray.

His strong sense of honor and morality pulled through, however, and though when he scooped her up into his arms, he contemplated bringing her back down to the couch, he steeled his nerves and brought her to bed, placing her gently on the mattress with a hurried peck on the cheek before leaving the bedroom and locking the door behind him.

If he couldn't get in, he wouldn't do anything foolish.

Hopping into the shower, being sure not to allow himself even the slightest bit of warm water, he sighed and leaned up against the tiled wall. Alcoholic beverages were hereby banned from the Okita household. As much as his testosterone enjoyed the effects, his heart disagreed. He had no desire to win her body with cheap tricks and he wanted even less for her to offer herself up like a desperate gutter slut.

She would be herself in the morning and even if he was met with anger and fury, he would accept that over her behavior tonight.

Cleansed of both the day and his impure thoughts, he stepped out, rubbing a towel over his hair before patting the rest of him dry and wrapping it around his waist. His cheerfulness had returned, but when he arrived at his bedroom, hand around the locked doorknob, he let his forehead fall against the wood with a 'thud'.

He had been in such a hurry to save Shousha from himself that he hadn't thought to bring clothes to the shower with him.

"Shousha?" he called out, knocking on the door. There was no reply, but this was expected. He imagined she had been about ready to pass out. His wallet was also in there, so he had no use of his credit cards and for all his special skills in stealth and crime, lock picking was not among them.

Cold and naked, he sighed.

Morning was going to be awkward.

xxxx


	15. The Lies of a Student

**Author's Note: **I know this has nothing to do with ANYTHING relating to fanfiction, but I'm sort of freaking out a little bit and since I like to think that you all think I'm interesting (*snort*), I'm going to share this with you all, dear readers.

So. Cosmopolitan Italia (Italy's edition of Cosmo) has plans to feature my shoes in their June issue. The web editor contacted me so I think it might just be online, but if they want to sneak me into the magazine, I have no complaints!

...

*screams* AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Okay I'm done. (lies)

Back to your regularly scheduled mafia romance. Also, I could put pesto on anything. Really. Anything.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 15**

When Shousha awoke the next morning, she was still in her clothes. Her head pounded and there was a dizzying nausea rising up on her throat. With a groan and a hand on her forehead, she turned to the other side of the bed where she expected to find her sleeping husband.

He wasn't there.

Curious, she sat up and looked around. This was not the room at Okita house. Through the pain, she tried to recall the events of the day before, but they only came at her in snippets. They were in New York, that much was clear, and then there was her studio, wine, and something about Soushi's pants. All very unhelpful memories.

As she slid out of bed, she walked carefully, doing her best to put minimal pressure on her footsteps so as not to upset her throbbing brain until she'd secured some ibuprofen and a tall glass of water. Or maybe an entire gallon.

Placing her hand on the knob, she was surprised to find it locked. Had she locked him out? She wouldn't put it past herself to do something of that nature. She shrugged and unlocked it, taking a sharp left and making her way into the bathroom.

Once water and medication were acquired, she wandered into the living room where she was met with a rather unusual sight. Okita was sprawled out on the couch wearing nothing but a white bath towel around his hips. His only coverage had come loose over the hours of sleeping (he moved a lot in his sleep, she had learned), and threatened to reveal all.

Shousha's heart pounded in time with her head as the night's events washed over her. Her face burned with embarrassment and she turned away from him, swallowing hard. Had she really come onto him like some drunken adolescent? Yes. She had.

It was six a.m. Okita knew this because he awoke at the sound of Shousha's light footsteps leaving he bedroom. She woke up every morning at six. It was a horrible schedule in his opinion. No one should be awake voluntarily before there were four digits on the clock.

Because she woke up at six, he woke up at six. She never bothered him though, and once she left the room or began to go about her morning preparations, he was able to drift back for another couple of hours.

He didn't move when she stepped into the living room, and he didn't open his eyes when she left. When she came back, her footsteps were quicker, and she was letting out small whispered, 'ow's with each step. He felt her stop before him and before he could even wonder what she was doing, he felt the warmth of a blanket covering him.

Shousha knelt down before him, watching as he half-slept before her. He always looked peaceful, as if there were never anything in the world that could put him at odds with himself. It must be wonderful, she thought, to have a perfect life.

Then she frowned. His life wasn't as perfect as she had assumed. With his father's recent murder, all of the family business was on his shoulders. She had met all of his sisters, and knew that each of them thought to have a say in his life's decisions. She was proof of that.

And then there was her. Swept up in her own world, she had done nothing but cause trouble for him, digging her heels at every move he made for her, and throwing a fit at every hiccup in her plans. She had never realized it until this moment, but she was, in fact, a selfish bitch.

Reaching out, she brushed his still damp hair from his forehead. "I won't have the courage to face you when you wake up," she said softly, running a finger over one of his perfectly arched eyebrows. "So..."

She put her elbows up onto the leather cushion and lifted herself up a bit. Closing her eyes, she leaned forward, kissing him softly.

"So thank you," she whispered.

When he was absolutely certain she had tucked herself away in her studio, Okita let his lips turn up into a grin. There was something special about a first kiss, even if he wasn't supposed to have been conscious to experience it.

Two hours later, the alarm on his phone blasted from the kitchen and he hauled himself off the couch and down the hall to his now unlocked bedroom to get ready for work. Shousha was painting, the music in her headphones too loud to hear him and her dedication to her work too focused to see him peek in to check on her.

Once he was dressed, coiffed and cologned, he knocked on the studio door once more, just to give her a friendly goodbye. He wouldn't make things more awkward for her.

Except, she wasn't there.

She wasn't in the living room either, and when he stepped into the kitchen, he was greeted first with the delicious aroma of morning coffee, and then by emptiness. Shousha wasn't outside on the patio either and he sighed. He wish she'd stop disappearing.

As he reached for the coffee pot, his hand paused and he looked over at the counter. A promotional Mibu Financial travel mug sat there next to a note.

_I don't know how you take your coffee, but I hope this is close. _

_ I went to the pet store for Ta-chan. Have a good day at work._

_ - Shousha_

Okita smiled. If she was avoiding him, at least she wasn't making it _too_ obvious.

He untwisted the cap to the travel mug and peeked inside. Extra cream by the looks of it. But how much sugar? Curiously, he took a sip. It was perfect. Grinning inwardly, he placed the top back on, did a phone-keys-wallet check, and headed out the door.

When he arrived at the bank, he fell into stride with Harada.

"No Starbucks today?"

Okita looked at his mug and held it up, grinning. "I have a wife now. She made me coffee."

Harada rolled his eyes as the two of them strolled into the conference room. "Newlyweds make me want to hurl."

xxxx

Taking advantage of the mild autumn weather, Saitou had seated himself outside by the giant fountain. It wasn't an unusual place to sit; he was among the other students, but it wasn't so densely populated that Tokio would be out of his sights.

She liked it out here, he had come to realize in the week or so that he'd been following her. More often than not, when their classes were let out (Kondo was clever enough to give him an exact match in schedule), he would find here here, scooting her table and chair closer to the water before shoving in her earbuds and pouring over her textbooks.

There were a lot of students that tried to approach her. Peppy females urging her to pledge their sororities and clubs were always let down gently. The boys, Saitou was proud to note, were not treated so kindly.

These men were dumb. Most of them vying for her attention didn't even have so much grace as to ask her name before hitting her with their cheap pick up lines. They also didn't seem to care that English wasn't her native language. It was because of this that Tokio refused to acknowledge any of them at all.

This made Saitou's job significantly easier. He knew that he could count on her to sit alone for at least an hour before heading to the dining hall to secure a meal. She'd usually return to her dorm afterwards and he would sit somewhere around the building, writing up a report of his observations.

At first he thought this mission was going to be a horrible experience filled with obnoxious wall street brats and a near constant hassle of having to dodge the student body while Tokio ran about camps on her spoiled whims.

But she surprised him. She was just as Kondo had said. A dedicated student. To the best of his knowledge, she hadn't even left campus yet.

So he settled into the comfortable routine and found himself able to accomplish much more here by the giant fountain than he ever had in his office.

It was nearing the end of his hour and when he looked up from the spreadsheet he was working on for the bank, she was gone. It wasn't long after that a small shadow came up to the table he had claimed.

"Saitou? Saitou Hajime?"

She had spotted him.

He looked up, taking in her pleasantly polite smile and her pretty gray eyes with her unusually long lashes.

"Okita-san."

Tokio let out a small laugh and rolled her eyes. "You can call me Tokio," she told him, "My mother and brother are Okita-san."

He let out a practiced smile and nodded.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ears as a gust of wind blew it out of place. "don't you work with Sou?"

When she pulled up a chair and sat down, he gave her an annoyed look. She didn't notice this and reached for the textbook he had opened.

"Ooh, you're going back to school?"

Snatching it away from her, he plopped it on the other side of his opened laptop. "I am furthering my education, yes."

"What are you studying?" she asked, leaning forward to peek at his screen which he also closed, much to her disappointment.

"Accounting," he replied shortly.

Tokio sat back. "You like math, then. I can see that. Serious men like math."

"What of your brother?" he countered, "we are in the same field, are we not?"

She flashed him a strained smile. "Sou is..._special._"

He wouldn't argue with that. There were many times where he doubted if Okita even belonged to the human race. Unmatched skill aside, his freakishly positive outlook on, well, everything, sometimes sent chills up Saitou's spine.

"What about you?" he asked, not wanting to keep the conversation going, but not wanting to appear rude and offend her either. He had a job to do, after all. "What are you studying."

"Pre-" she paused, looking around and leaning even closer to him, "Can you keep a secret?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I suppose that would depend on the secret."

Sighing, she glanced up at him. "I didn't come to the city to study medicine," she admitted, "I have no intentions of becoming a doctor."

"What have you come here to do then?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning back.

She stood, tucking her books into the messenger bag at her hip. "Just don't tell my brother," she said, avoiding the question, "If he finds out I've strayed from his plans, who knows how many spies he'll set on me."

Saitou bit back a sardonic grin. "He'll worry for you. It will be difficult for me to keep information from him, Tokio."

"Please!" she cried, "Just, just don't tell him you saw me. It'll be better that way."

Uneasy about her secrecy, Saitou tucked this nugget away and gave her a small nod. "Between us, then."

She smiled at him, a beautiful flash of teeth, lip gloss, and more feminine gratitude than he cared to accept.

"Thanks so much, Saitou," she said excitedly, "Maybe we'll see each other again soon."

He nodded to her, "That is very likely."

With a short wave, she ducked away, headed, of course, to the dining hall, leaving Saitou to ponder what it was she was here to do.

xxxx

It had been days since Okita and Shousha had spoken.

It wasn't because she was upset with him, but as she had said, she hadn't the courage to face him. _He_ hadn't approached _her_ for fear of upsetting her. Now that her embarrassment had subsided, a new insecurity had risen up in her brain. He wasn't speaking to her. He wouldn't even look at her.

Was he that repulsed?

And so it had been that through a mutual misunderstanding, husband and wife ignored each other.

Ignored may have been an incorrect term. Shousha made sure to send him off with a coffee each morning and Okita was forever checking in on whatever she was doing, be it cooking, painting, or sleeping.

He didn't like their distance, so on day five, he decided to put an end to it.

When he left for work that morning, he had left her a note.

_Don't eat dinner_.

He hoped she'd listen. Normally she'd cook for the two of them, take her plate into her studio, and leave his in a warming tray in the oven. It was a nice gesture, he admitted to himself. At least she was taking care of him-something he imagined other men with resentful wives weren't so lucky to experience.

When he stepped into the apartment that night, he was happy to find it completely devoid of savory scents.

Kicking off his shoes, he shrugged off his jacket, and stuffed his pistols under some towels in a drawer next to the refrigerator. It wasn't where he normally kept them, but he'd be needing them tonight. Finally ready to work, he yanked open the giant door of the fridge and began digging for ingredients.

Within fifteen minutes he had plated a wonderfully easy dinner of angel hair and pesto (the more he ate in the city, the more he was beginning to become very fond of the basil paste). It was a simple dish, cheap and easy, but he was almost certain Shousha would never have had it before. Carefully, he sprinkled a touch of Parmesan cheese on each plate and pulled out a water decanter.

Arms crossed in satisfaction, he looked at his dining room table. This would be the first time they had eaten there together. He rather enjoyed the sight of it being set for two. The only time it had ever been host to food for more than him was when he had parties with his friends, and even that was only around holidays.

Not wanting the food to get cold, he hurried down the hall and with a deep breath, opened the studio door. It was the first time he hadn't knocked, assuming she wouldn't have heard, but this time, she had no music in her ears.

Her eyes went wide with surprise at his sudden entrance, but then she looked away, swirling a brush around in a cup of water.

"I made you dinner," Okita said cheerfully, "I made-I made _us_ dinner."

Shousha's hand paused, but she didn't look at him. "What did you make?" She could tell by his hopeful tone that he wanted them to eat together. He could tell by _her_ hopeful tone that she wanted the same.

"Pasta," he told her, "with some oil and pesto."

She looked at him questioningly. "What's pesto?"

"It's Italian," he replied, "like a basil paste."

"Oh."

"It's good," he pressed, smiling.

She didn't respond, but swiped her brush against a paint stained towel and shoved it into her brush roll. When she stood, he grinned and left for the dining room, happy that she had agreed to eat with him.

They were quiet at first, but he was happy, noting the steady rhythm of her bites which indicated her enjoyment of his presentation. After she was about halfway through, he cleared his throat and she looked up at him.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come out with me tonight."

She stopped her fork and glanced up at him. "Where?"

"My boat?" he suggested, "The weather is getting cold so I'll have to put her away in a month or so. I thought you might like to-"

"Okay."

He looked at her in trepidation, almost nervous to show his excitement lest he frighten her away.

"I told you I like the water," she said, reaching for her glass, "and I think I'd like to see the city lights from it."

He let out a happy sigh and a shaky laugh. "That's good. For a while I was starting to think you'd never speak to me again."

Shousha bit down on her tongue, frowning. "It's not you," she admitted, "I just-"

"It's alright," he interrupted, flashing her a grin, "I can see how difficult this transition has been for you. I don't plan on making things awkward for you or pressuring you into something you don't want to do. We'll just take everything as it comes, yeah?"

With another smile, he stuffed a forkful of pasta into his mouth and shrugged his shoulders playfully.

"Yeah," she agreed, "one day at a time, I guess."

Once dinner was finished, he sent her off to put on some warmer clothes while he cleaned up, donning his holster and jacket once again. In his business, one could never be too careful.

The driver took them down to the docks and as Okita got to work uncovering his boat, Shousha looked out onto the water. There was a stillness to it and she almost didn't want to disturb it. When her husband held out his hand to her, however, she found herself unable to resist the comfort of his palm.

When she stepped into the small rowboat, she was surprised at its appearance. The boat itself was jet black, lacquered and polished to a magnificently masculine shine. There were two small seats, as if the maker of the vessel had intended for only two to sit inside and had carved them out by hand. Brilliant red cushions sat atop them, a sensual image of seduction.

Shousha inhaled sharply. If she wasn't careful, this boat could be the death of her resolve.

"Are you alright?" Okita asked her, sitting down and reaching down to procure a small lantern. "Can you hang that up front there?"

She took the light, hooking it onto a post. "I wasn't expecting a rowboat to look like this, that's all."

He chuckled lightly. "I do tend to spoil myself from time to time," he confessed.

She smiled at that as they pulled away from the dock and into the night. "It happens," she said, shrugging, "being born with a silver spoon in your mouth I doubt you know of much else."

"You talk like you weren't born the wealthiest baby in Japan."

"It happens," she said again.

She wasn't looking at him, but he didn't mind. The lantern cast a glow on her face, resting on her fist and he wished he were a painter too, for there was nothing he wanted more than to capture this vision of her.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

"I don't know," she said quietly, "It's so vast and empty."

"That's why I love it," he told her, stopping the oars and letting physics take over. "It's like being in the middle of nothing at all."

She turned to him, lowering her fist to her lap and looking at him intently, silently begging him to explain.

"My life has always been chaos, noise, and activity. If not my family, then my job, or my friends, even my thoughts. Here there is nothing, and I can find peace."

Shousha shook her head, smiling. "How different we are."

Okita looked to her, tilting his head. "How do you mean?"

"I spend all my time trying to escape the nothingness in my life. I'll fill it up with anything I can, but it's still there. But you," she paused looking out into the blackness, "you embrace it."

He followed her gaze. So that was why she ran. She ran from everything else because she wasn't able to run from herself.

When they docked, Shousha hung back slightly as he made his way to the car. Taking one last look at the seemingly endless river, she took a breath and spun on her heels.

"Soushi!"

Okita stopped his pace, turning to look at her. The volume of her voice mixed with her slightly pleading tone startled him.

"Shou-chan?"

"I haven't been myself lately," she told him.

He smiled, "That's quite alright, Shou-chan. You know I don't mind."

She steeled herself as he took a few steps back towards her. "I don't even know who I am," she went on, "but these past two weeks I have been more of a stranger to myself than ever. I am not quiet or demure. I don't accept things I can't control, and I do _not _know how to handle being married to you."

Okita swallowed as she took a breath.

"But," she said shakily, "I will try. I want to give you a chance." she looked down at her boots, turning her toes inward. "I want to give..._us_ a chance."

"Do you mean-"

"What I mean is I want to be your friend," she bit off, stamping her foot. She allowed herself a few calming inhales before speaking again.

"I do like you," she said earnestly, but when a triumphant smile broke out on his face, she added, "a little."

"I like you too," he replied, coming up to stand just inches from her own body. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against the softness of her cheek, and lowering his voice to a tone akin to a purr, "more than a little."

Surprised and thrown off by his unusually sensual tone, she gripped his upper arm for support.

"What do you want?" she asked him in a whisper. He still hadn't pulled away completely and she could feel his breath on her jawline. "With me, with this marriage? What do you want?"

Okita smiled, holding her arms and leaning back to look at her. "I want you to fall in love with me, Shou-chan."

Shousha took a step back. "_What_?"

"It's like you said," he told her, pulling on her elbow gently and leading her stunned form to the car, "one day at a time."

xxxx


	16. The Heat of an Office

**Author's Note: **With admin seemingly rolling out some iron fists over fics with an M rating, but with MA content, I'm shifting a little in my seat wondering just how far I can go (or how far I may have gone) without being considered 'explicit'. I like to think that I'm not, but eh, you never know.

This change, or stricter enforcing of the rules, won't affect any of my fics just yet (though some of _CiF_ is debatable), but I just wanted to give everyone a heads up. I really don't want to have to move over to AFF since the audience there for non-erotic fics is pretty small.

Maybe I'll put the saucy chapters up on my blog or something. Ugh. I really hate the thought of breaking up a story, especially when sexual intimacy and blood and guts are part of the _plot_. (Believe me, I wish I could just stick and remove random lemons without affecting anything) I don't know yet. I'm going to have to get creative.

I'm open to suggestions, but like I said, no worries for the near future. I'll keep you all posted. :)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 16**

When Shousha stepped into the great hall of Mibu Financial, her breath caught in her throat. _Come to work with me_ _tomorrow,_ Okita had said once they had returned home from the pier. She had agreed, knowing that it would make him happy and she had been truthful when she said she wanted to make things work with him.

It had been an easy morning; he had even made an honest attempt at waking up early enough to have breakfast with her instead of stuffing a slice of raisin bread in his mouth before he bolted out the door. The car ride too had been pleasant. He, enjoying his coffee, and she, secretly soaking up her success of remembering exactly how he liked it.

"I thought you'd like to hang up your paintings," he told her, breaking the silence as they stopped at a red light. "We don't have space for them at home, so I thought putting them on display inside of Mibu would be a good alternative. It's sort of like a museum, in a weird way."

"Yeah," she said, "that's okay."

She had expected the interior to be horrifyingly geometric, possibly with dark woods and little green desk lamps-the essence of masculine finance. What greeted her instead, left her speechless.

Her feet met white marble, not the bland industrial tile of just about every other corporate building she had visited. The walls were neutral, a friendly ivory with a soft eggshell finish and had been emptied to make room for the paintings that lined the hall, covered by white cloths, protecting them from wandering hands of curious customers.

Okita spread out his arms, grinning at her. "Here it is!"

"It's not what I expected at all," she admitted.

"Life often isn't," he replied with a smile.

She cast him an annoyed glance at that, beginning to lift the cloths from her artwork. "Do you want them hung here?" she asked, looked up at the walls on either side of the entryway, mentally assembling a layout.

"You don't have to do it now," he laughed, taking her hand and pulling her through the building, "you should come meet everyone."

Shousha made a point of letting him know that she _had_ met them all several months ago and would prefer not to re-live the experience, but he assured her that she was being ridiculous and they were all very excited to speak with her. It wasn't true; save Harada, none of his colleagues had much interest in her at all.

When they stepped into the conference room together, conversation halted and all eyes turned to them. There were a few men Shousha didn't recognize and they all gave Okita respectful greetings. Upon Kondo's clearing of his throat, however, they all stood.

"I'd like you all to meet my wife," Okita told them cheerfully, "isn't she beautiful?"

Shousha's face flushed and she lowered the heel of her shoe onto his toes. As usual, he remained smiling, completely unfazed by her childish acts. They bowed to her in unison before taking their seats again.

"It is an honor to meet you," Kondo said politely, "Okita speaks very highly of you."

Harada let out a grin and gave her a thumbs up. "How's he treatin' ya, missy?"

"Please be nice, Harada-san," Okita said, "Shou-chan hasn't fully adjusted to married life yet."

Insulted Shousha gave him a fierce shove, surprising all of the men seated at the table. Hijikata mumbled something, irritated, but ignored the display otherwise.

"_Shou-chan_, is just fine," she snapped, "so fine in fact, that she's going to spend the next few hours on a ladder playing with hammers and nails."

When she stomped out of the room, Kondo was chuckling. "Feisty little thing isn't she?"

Okita took up his seat, opening the portfolio before him. It was Monday. "Yeah," he said with a grin, "she isn't afraid of anything."

"I beg to differ."

Their attention was turned to the other end of the table where Hijikata had folded his hands and was looking at them all plainly.

"I recall her trembling in my presence not so long ago."

Harada snorted, "That's because you're scary."

"But not as scary as Saitou-san," Okita teased, grinning over the table at his best friend who had been tuning out the conversation, calculating how much time he had between this morning's meeting and Tokio's first class of the day.

And by Tokio's, he meant his, of course.

As the day progressed, Okita went about his work as normal. He had several meetings with clients, but his schedule wasn't overly full today. Giving his assistant the majority of his paperwork had granted him the extra time he needed to mill about with the tellers on the first floor of the bank and of course, to spy on his wife.

He always enjoyed watching her paint. Most of the time she didn't even notice him doing it, so lost in her world of art and music, and he was glad for that. There was a freedom in solitude and she displayed it with gusto.

She worked much the same now, ipod blasting something intense and instrumental as she measured, chalked, hammered, and hung. Up and down she went on the ladder, contemplating and changing her mind mid-step more often than she should have.

Her heels had long been abandoned, tossed over by the potted plant nearby and she worked in her grey stockinged feet, occasionally pulling down the hem of the black shorts she wore over them. It was a cute sight and he smiled softly to himself each time the rough steps of the ladder snagged on the woven nylon and she uncaught herself with furrowed brows.

She should have brought ballet flats.

That was all Shousha could think about as she pulled herself free of the wooden step. Heels were a pain to work in; she didn't know why she had decided to wear them in the first place, and she was certain that if she felt the prick of another splinter, she was going to give up entirely.

She was halfway done and it was nearing two o'clock. She'd been at it for nearly five hours and it was high time she ate something. Slipping her shoes back on, she pushed the ladder against the wall, swept up the stray nails that had spilled from the box and placed the box, along with the hammer, behind the remaining paintings. She didn't know exactly where they went, as a member of the janitorial staff had retrieved them for her, but so long as they were out of the way, they could avoid potential lawsuits.

As she headed down the hall in the direction of the cafeteria, she had a thought, and turning, walked back towards the conference room. On her way, she ran into Harada.

"Hey missy!" he called out, waving to her. She stopped, looking up at him, inwardly laughing at all the which ways his hair grew.

"Lookin' for Okita?"

"Uh, yeah," she said with a smile, "how did you know?"

He laughed at her, ruffling the top of her hair. Generally she would have shooed him away, slapping at him and sending him off with his tail between his legs, but for some reason, she didn't mind so much. Of all Soushi's friends, Harada certainly was growing on her.

"He's your hubby," he replied, "and what else would you be doin' up here?"

"Well I'll give you that one," she said.

"Yeah, his office is right there," Harada told her, pointing, "make sure you kids behave yourselves."

With a wink and another small wave, he disappeared around the corner. Shousha rolled her eyes and gave a small knock on the doorframe of her husband's office. The door was open and he was seated behind the desk, furiously entering numbers into a spreadsheet. When he heard the knock, he swiveled in his chair and his eyes lit up.

"Shou-chan!" he cried happily. Shousha rolled her eyes and stepped in.

The office was significantly bigger than she ever would have imagined it to be. She knew that he was friendly with the vice-president, and as it seemed, several of the other higher ups of the bank, but was that enough to grant a simple financial advisor such a grandiose space?

"I was wondering if maybe you were hungry," she said, soaking in his hopeful smile, "I was going to get some lunch and I thought maybe you'd like to come with me."

Surprised, Okita looked at the clock. It was two already? He didn't recall getting much done today. It seemed that his well intended stalking had taken up more time than he had imagined.

"Yeah, that would be great," he told her, "just let me finish this real quick, okay?"

She nodded, eye catching a framed newspaper clipping on the wall. He returned to his work and she took a few steps to her right, examining the article. The first thing that caught her eye was the photo. It was relatively new, she noticed, as Okita looked exactly the same as he did now. He stood between Kondo and Hijikata on the front steps of the bank, ever present smile plastered on his face,

Her eyes moved down to the caption and she had to read it several times before her brain managed to digest it.

_Okita Soushi with co-founders Kondo Isami and Hijikata Toshizo as they celebrate Mibu Financial's grand opening._

"Wait..."

Okita lifted his head. "Something wrong, Shou-chan?"

Looking at him fiercely, Shousha pointed to the article. "This is you."

He nodded.

"You are the founder of this bank."

That was common knowledge, wasn't it? "Yeah. My dad and I were going to open up in Kyoto, but when he died-"

"_You_ own this bank," she interrupted, still not believing. "This is your bank."

"I don't know why you're so surprised, Shou-chan," he teased, "you still have more money than I do."

Her expression said it all. Money wasn't an object here; it never was. She was impressed to a point where she felt a cold stab of jealousy. How did he do it, she wondered. Every single move he made was praised and smiled upon. Each of his endeavors succeeded, and no one ever questioned his motives.

He was twenty-three years old.

Twenty-three.

And he owned a fucking bank.

As her mouth twitched downward, Okita stepped out from behind his desk. He knew that look. She was going to say something nasty, even if her heart felt otherwise. Carefully, he reached over and shut the blinds, cutting off visual access from the outside.

"I don't get it," she whispered. "why are you so perfect?"

"I'm not perfect," he told her quietly, "you'll discover that rather quickly."

She spun around, surprised at how close he was. No doubt he had intended to put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"What are you talking about?" she scoffed. "no matter what you do, everyone coos with delight at how _wonderful_ you are. You could probably kill a puppy and it would have turned out to have rabies and you'd be a big hero."

Okita let out a muffled laugh behind his hand. "I don't think I could kill a puppy," he admitted, which only earned him a '_see what I mean?_'

Frustrated, Shousha's fingers wiggled in the air as she shook her hands up towards the ceiling. "It's like all you know how to do is make people happy!"

"What's wrong with making people happy?" he asked.

"It's not _normal_!" she cried.

Not knowing what to say to that, he stood before her for a moment, looking somewhere over her shoulder while she inwardly fumed. Her insecurities would be the death of him, that much he was sure of.

Just then, an idea came to him and when he flicked his gaze to her, she crossed her arms at him.

"_What_."

"I could make you angry," he told her. "Right now. Let me make you mad."

Caught off guard, Shousha lowered her arms. "What? Why would I want you to piss me off?"

He shrugged. "To prove a point?"

"Say one word about Kogoro," she growled, "and I will kill you."

But he just smiled at her. "Oh, I don't have to resort to unkind words to upset you."

She opened her mouth to issue him a challenge, but he was fast. Much faster than she remembered, and far faster than she wanted him to be.

Within an instant, one of his arms was around her waist, pulling her against his chest while his other hand buried itself into her hair, his gently commanding grip on the back of her head keeping her in place as he crushed his mouth against hers.

Surprised, Shousha's eyes went wide and her knees buckled slightly. He certainly had some nerve, kissing her so... so... _damn._

With a slightly dazed yell, she shoved his chest, sending him backwards a few steps.

With a grin, he gave her a satisfied look. "I told you so."

Accompanying her dark look of fury, however, was something he had only seen in her once before, on a night where he hadn't been able to justify accepting it.

"Shut up," she breathed, using the palms of her hands to push him backwards and down into one of the waiting chairs before the window. Before he had a chance to retort, she lowered herself onto his lap, stockinged legs straddling his thighs.

"I don't want to want this," she whispered, taking his face in her hands and lifting him to look at her, "but I can't help myself."

As she kissed him fervently, Okita felt a sensual shiver run over his body. Her misguided anger and contradictory affection was something he had never experienced before. All of the other women he had ever shared intimate moments with had been openly attracted to him, making honest efforts of gaining his attention, and eagerly awaiting a chance to please him.

This woman, his emotionally battered, and if he might say, slightly psychotic, wife may have been acting of her own accord (at least he assumed it was her own accord, the way her hands traveled under the brilliant blue of his shirt, and her tongue fought for dominance against his own), but she wasn't willing to accept the fact that she was, in fact, attracted to him. She fought against him, and she fought against herself, and as demented and fetish-like as it seemed, it was the resistance in her passion that Okita found to be the most arousing.

Getting sexy in his office was a bonus.

As he let his head fall back while she ran her hands up his chest and ground herself against the bulge in his pants, he let out her name in a soft whisper of pleading. His hands gripped the arms of the chair, not trusting himself with them.

"What do you want?" she teased, giving his ear a nibble as she caressed the side of his face.

"Anything," he replied huskily, "anything you will give me."

A self-indulgent grin broke out on her features which she hid behind a kiss. For a man of such position and power, he was incredibly willing to submit himself to her.

"You won't get anything from me today," she told him, pulling herself off of him and returning her feet to the floor. "because you were wrong."

Sitting slack in the chair, Okita took a moment for the lust to fade from his vision, but making no effort to straighten himself. There was something oddly comfortable in his state of disarray. For once he didn't care that his shirt was untucked, his hair was hanging, half undone, or that he was sitting in a public building with a raging erection. He didn't have a meeting soon, did he?

He suddenly couldn't remember.

"I'm going to get something to eat," she told him, bending to retrieve the phone that had slipped from her back pocket at some point during their display of heated affection.

"Can I come?" he asked. His voice was shaking, caused by the leftover tremors of arousal shooting through his body.

"No," she replied shortly, "you can't."

"Why not?" he pouted, still unsure as to why he couldn't find it in him to move.

Shousha opened the door and with one foot in the hallway, turned to him with an icy glare.

"Because even your kisses are perfect," she said, irritated, before closing the door behind her.

There wasn't much of her usual sting in those words and as he heard her hurried footsteps storming away, Okita began to laugh, knowing he had won today's altercation.

xxxx

Since his meeting with Tokio, Saitou's job had become significantly more stressful. Now that she knew he was here, she would be looking for him and with his narrow golden eyes and spider legged bangs that defied every hair product known to man, he didn't exactly blend in.

With the weather getting chillier by the minute, the courtyard was beginning to thin and hiding among the hustle and bustle wasn't quite as easy. Tokio had also been resorting to studying indoors, frustrating the wolf who had her exact schedule down pat.

One day nearing the middle of the semester, the weather was particularly beautiful and the area by the fountain was bursting with students. Tokio had taken up her usual place at her table and Saitou, thankful for nature's warmth, was seated at his. He hadn't spoken to her since she had approached him, so there would have been nothing unusual about his position should her eyes come across his again.

He watched her for a while, ignoring his own work. She was having difficulty today, he noticed. She always worked with her books with little expression, zooming through her notes and flipping though pages furiously devouring the information. Today, however, she was reading the same paragraph several times and glancing between the book and her notebook, hopelessly trying to make sense of the subject.

Saitou found this extremely endearing.

He shouldn't have. She was his best friend's little sister, but code of brotherhood be damned, she was a beautiful creature. He didn't desire her outright; that would be a waste of time and no amount of gorgeous curls could make him actively betray his closest friend.

But looking... well, that couldn't hurt.

Looking at her was his job, after all.

A car pulled up to the campus then, unnoticed by most. An unusual, but all too familiar energy stepped into the courtyard and, senses alert, Saitou scanned the area for its owner. Sure enough, a young man was headed in Tokio's direction. He was well dressed, attractive, and if he knew how Katsura played his game, silver tongued.

Not wanting to alarm her, Saitou hovered around a few feet away. She didn't notice him, giving him an opportunity to overhear whatever it was this kid was about to say to her.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Startled by hearing her native tongue, Tokio looked up from her homework, thankful for the distraction. Her eyes met that of a gentle looking man, similar in age to herself by the looks of it.

She smiled at him and he continued.

"I'm new here and I was told that you might be able to help me. I don't speak any English, so getting around is difficult."

Tokio laughed, offering him the seat next to her. "Adjusting to life in a foreign country is difficult," she told him, "but do-able if you are determined."

"My name is Takeru," he said, his mouth smiling, but his eyes calculating and observing of her every movement.

"Tokio," she replied happily. "Okita Tokio."

Victory.

This subtle expression that Takeru displayed did not go unnoticed by Saitou.

"I haven't got my schedule yet," the boy said, scratching the back of his head, "but I'm completely lost here and have no idea where to even find my dorm. Do you think you could help me?"

_Not so fast, chief,_ Saitou grumbled inwardly, taking a few long strides over to the table and bringing his arm around Tokio's shoulder as she stood to accept the quest.

"Sweetheart," he cooed, voice slick as he sent the other male a threatening glare, "I've been looking for you."

Stunned, Tokio looked up at Saitou who had turned her into his chest. "Y-you have?"

There was little else she could say. He had barely ever said two words to her all the times he had been at her house in Tokyo, so it wasn't so unusual that she felt slightly surprised to suddenly be pressed up against the man in an embrace.

But Saitou didn't address her again.

"Get out of here, you little shit," he snapped at Takeru, "and if I ever catch you trying to trick my girlfriend into sleeping with you again, I'll cut off your dick."

Tokio peeked around her shoulder and was disappointed to find Takeru's expression dark and furious. It was not the face of a new student lost on campus, but that of a snake, robbed of its prey.

"As for us," Saitou said, pulling Tokio's bookbag onto his shoulder along with his own and taking her hand, "we're leaving."

"Where are we going?" Tokio asked once they were far enough from Katsura's lackey.

Saitou's phone vibrated once and he checked the screen, reading the text that had just came through.

_At a job until 7. Sorry. :) _

Damn.

"My place," he said gruffly, helping her into the back seat of his own car before sliding in after her.

Tokio clapped her hands excitedly. "Oooh! Completing the illusion!"

"No," he corrected, "your brother is busy at work. He'll pick you up once he's done. I don't want you to stay at school tonight."

She looked at him curiously. What did it matter what _he_ wanted?

"Was that boy really trying to get in my pants?"

Saitou looked over at her mildly. "I don't know," he told her, "but whatever he was up to, you would have gotten hurt."

"How do you know?" she asked.

"Instinct."

Tokio sat back. What a boring answer. "Are you sure it was instinct? You're not secretly spying on me?"

He gave her a flat look and she shrugged.

"You're just so mysterious, Saitou-san. I think it would be pretty cool if you were some sort of undercover detective or, I don't know, something like in the movies."

"Movies are movies for a reason, Tokio," he said testily. "Keep your head in your textbooks."

When they arrived at his apartment, he left her alone in his living room while he tended to mundane tasks such as mail, bills, and his own homework.

He didn't seem very interested in speaking with her, or even acknowledging her, so Tokio took up the opportunity to take in the feel of his home. It was very clean, pristine even, but this didn't surprise her. Okita was the same way and she had only assumed that he would surround himself with men who had similar habits. They also worked with numbers. Being so orderly themselves, it was difficult to imagine that those who lived by them could possibly live in chaos.

Dropping her backpack onto the couch with a soft _thud_, she made her way to the entertainment center, finding pleasure in his personal effects. The first thing she noticed was a glass case just above the modest flat screen television. In it, resting on their comfortable stands, were two handguns. They were beautiful: silver with intricate engraving swirling around the entire body of each off them as if the metal had simply _grown_ that way. Standing on her toes, she squinted her eyes to read what was written on the sides.

"_Katana... _and... _wakizashi._" she let her feet fall flat onto the floor and she smiled, "hey! Just like the old samurai swords!"

Not looking up from his papers laid out in perfect order on the kitchen table, Saitou grunted. "They are for show."

It wasn't true, but he never had any person who wasn't affiliated with Tokugawa into his home, and saw no reason to hide his weapons as Okita and Harada did.

"Where did you get them?" she asked, "they must have cost a fortune."

"They were custom made," he replied, still keeping his eyes focused on the numbers before him.

Tokio's eyes fell next onto the photo a woman. It was a glamour shot and there was no doubt that this woman was a model, or had been, as the fashion and hairstyle was outdated, but her face was still just as beautiful as the bombshells of today. Of all her features however, it was her eyes that stood out. The same narrow and dangerous oculars of the man at the table.

"This woman is gorgeous," Tokio breathed. Saitou's head snapped up and when Tokio pulled the frame from the shelf, he pushed back his chair and in a few short steps, snatched it from her hands.

"Is that your mother?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"She is dead," he replied flatly, slamming the photo down, hiding her face.

Tokio's face fell. "Oh. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he replied, giving her a cool glance, "she was a traitorous whore."

Tokio gasped at his flippantly insulting description of his mother. "That's not a very nice thing to say, Saitou-san. She was your mother. Don't you mourn her?"

His steel gaze kept her rooted in her place. "And what of Kojuro?" he sneered, "Do you mourn a pedophile?"

When the colour drained from her face, he almost felt apologetic. He shouldn't have spoken such cruel words, not to her, but the relationship he had with his own parents was not up for discussion.

"Do not pry into the family matters of others until you are ready to discuss your own," he told her, relaxing his posture and stepping back from her.

Swallowing down memories that threatened to come forth, Tokio motioned to the other photo frame on the shelf.

"What about her?"

Saitou had forgotten that picture was there. Because it had always been near him, he never thought twice about it. There was nothing special about that photo; it was nothing more than a snapshot, but it held more of him in it than he would ever share with a human being.

"That's Fumiko," he said softly. "and... me."

Tokio leaned forward. "You look very handsome here."

He snorted. "It's just a stupid picture."

It had been taken nearly ten years ago, when they had been in high school. It was a simple pose; they had their arms around each other's shoulders, grinning excitedly at whoever it was that had been holding the camera. To be more exact, Fumiko had been grinning excitedly. Saitou had a sideways smirk plastered on his face, but his eyes had held the same happiness of the girl beside him.

"Is she your girlfriend?" Tokio wondered, straightening.

"No," he replied, "she's just some girl."

Unconvinced, Tokio raised a brow at him. Wanting to end the subject, Saitou sighed.

"Before I met your brother, she was-we were inseparable. We grew up together. That is all."

"Oh," Tokio said, knowingly. "she was your best friend."

"Yeah," Saitou agreed, staring at the girl who he had barely glanced at in ten years. He'd seen her in person since then, but she was a woman now, a puppet, just as he was.

Without a word, Saitou turned and headed back into the kitchen. Reaching up, he pulled a bowl from the cupboard and a pan from below, filling it with water. Curiously, Tokio came up to watch him, resting her shoulder against the wall.

"What are you doing?"

Turning on the stove, he looked up at the clock. It was three-thirty.

"Making soba," he replied casually.

"Oh."

Feeling her eyes on him, he took a deep breath. Why was she just _staring_ at him? Her gaze flicked to the small pan of water and the singular bowl, then back to him. She cleared her throat delicately and he let out an annoyed growl.

"Would you like some soba, Tokio?"

Her face lit up and she smiled. "Oh yes, thank you!"

Irritated, he reached for two packets of instant soba. He always bought seven. One for each day of the week, at three-thirty. Now, because of his _guest_, he would either have to sacrifice a day of his favourite noodles, or head down to the lower east side for _one_ packet to put his schedule back in place. Neither of the two options sounded particularly pleasing.

Taking another bowl out of the cabinet, he watched Tokio from the corner of his eye as she settled next to his work and pulled out her textbook.

"I'm going to have a cigarette," he announced, "don't overcook my soba."

She nodded, not looking up and gave him a sweet _okay_. He slid open the door to his balcony and lighting up his cigarette, stared out into the city. The next four hours were going to be torture.

Pure torture.

xxxx

**Author's Note: **I didn't intend for O/S to get so steamy today, but, ah well. Enjoy it. As for Saitou, I can't really imagine him having a good relationship with his parental units, and I look forward to expanding on that. I also couldn't resist bringing in Hiromu Fumiko from _CiF_ because I really enjoy the way they interact.


	17. The Truth of a Divorce

**Author's Note: **Though short, I feel like this chapter is going to be a favourite for the rabid S/T fans. :3 And quite honestly, of all my fics, this one has my favourite S/T story. I think you will all enjoy it greatly too.

And again, forgive my crappy attempts at journalism. I don't ever read the news and/or gossip rag, so I don't know how to write it.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**The Arrangement - 17**

Tokio had not overcooked Saitou's soba and when they were both seated at the table, she pulled out her homework, and began to hack away at it again. For a few minutes, Saitou watched her silently, but as time wore on and he was certain she was making permanent wrinkles in her forehead, he pulled the textbook out from her nose.

"What has you so worked up?" he demanded, turning the book towards himself that he might read from it.

"Western History," she grumbled, "I hate all history."

Casting her a disapproving glance, he returned her book. "History is important, Tokio."

"_Now_ is important," she said, "the _future _is important. I don't care about what happened three hundred years ago. Not in my country, and not in this one."

"History dictates the future. We need to learn from the past in order to advance in the future."

She shrugged and he raised a brow to challenge her. "What subject do you favor?"

"Science," she replied quickly, jabbing the book with her pencil for emphasis, "science is much more important than history."

Standing, Saitou pulled her bowl from the table, not bothering to ask if she was through with it, and began to wash the dishes. He wasn't being polite; it was habit.

"And is there no history in science? For all of your experiments that failed, you learn from them, yes? Isn't that history?"

Tokio frowned and slammed the book shut. "That's not history, that's data."

"History _is _data, Tokio."

When he sat back down, she crossed her arms. "For a politician, maybe."

Saitou thought for a moment, and then moved from his seat at the head of the table, to the empty chair next to her. She didn't acknowledge him at first, but when he reached over and pulled her pencil from her hands, she looked up.

"What are you doing?"

"I'll be your tutor," he said simply, checking her agenda for the page and question numbers, then swiping through the pages deftly, "your incessant sighing is making it impossible for me to concentrate, so we will work together on your assignment."

"I don't need your help," she protested, reaching for her writing utensil, but failing as he moved effortlessly away from her.

"Yes," he said plainly, "that much is evident by your progress."

Knowing that she had no choice but to admit defeat, she frowned and made a submissive gesture towards the book, inviting him to help her. He looked to her notes, and shook his head.

"There's too much," he told her, ripping out the half a page she had managed to get down.

She watched as he crumpled the paper in one fist before he tossed it across the room and out of sight.

"Don't take notes in English," he scolded.

Tokio sat back, "but the class is in English."

Saitou gave her a look that told her he was well aware of this fact. "You're thinking too hard," he said, "trying to learn History and English at the same time is counterproductive. Think and write in your own tongue and translate later."

Sinking down in her seat, she pouted, "that's a lot of work."

"Writing it twice will help you memorize it."

Reluctantly, she agreed and he pointed her pencil at her, letting her take it back.

While he recited passages and asked her simple versions of the wordy questions at the end of the unit, she took time to appreciate his assistance. Words were not her strong point. _Dates_ and _names_ even less so. Despite Saitou's love for numbers and his seemingly complex persona, he had a remarkable talent in making the subject of History quite simple.

She jotted down notes in the form that he instructed, tucking away the techniques he was throwing out at her to pick out key points in the lesson, and after fifteen minutes, was nearly halfway through answering all of the homework questions.

"Thanks," she said, scrawling away in the tiny characters that made up her handwriting. She wold translate these notes into English tomorrow. He didn't reply, so she leaned over, raising her voice.

"_Thank you."_

When he looked to her, his expression bored and tired of her, she smiled at him, a strained sort of grin that said she wasn't fond of his aloof nature.

"You're welcome," he replied. When he spoke, she softened and her smile melted into something warmer. Satisfaction.

"Will you tutor me again?" she wondered, turning the page of her notebook and flipping it over to continue her work on the opposite page. "that'd be pretty awesome."

He considered this. It would be beneficial to the both of them if he were to help her with her studies. Okita would have no reason to dissuade him. He almost responded 'yes', but then his eyes caught the photo of Fumiko and the image of his father flashed before him. That was another problem he would have to deal with.

He also thought of the boy Katsura had sent to lure Tokio to God only knows where. It could happen again. It could happen with a boy _not_ affiliated with the Choshu clan. At least if Katsura had her, they would have a chance of saving her.

As his musings came to an end, his gaze fell back to Tokio with her shining black curls and slender form. Her eyes were bright and concentrating on her work while her lips, glossed in a glittering pink, parted slightly, her tongue darting out to lick them every few minutes. It was a nasty thought, but for the briefest of seconds, he wondered how long it would take to scoop her up and carry her to his bed, and, if he could do it without protest from her.

The fantasy vanished in an instant as the sobering reminder that she was _Okita's_ sister tugged at his brain. Very rarely did he ever desire a woman simply because he was in her presence, but now that he did, he couldn't touch her. It was unfortunate, really.

Still, before he could catch himself, he cleared his throat and announced, "From this moment on, I am your boyfriend."

The tip of Tokio's pencil snapped.

"_What?_"

She spun to face him and was slightly disappointed to find that he was neither laughing, nor pleased with himself. He was staring at her intently, awaiting her opinion, but ready to tell her why it didn't matter. She blinked a few times opened her mouth to speak twice, then finally sat back, crossing her arms again.

"Why."

Saitou reached into his school bag and withdrew another pencil, handing it to her. "Because I do not want to repeat today's incident. I have seen the boys at school trying to date you. Not all of them will handle rejection so well."

"I'm fine," she told him, "they're just boys."

"They will take advantage of you," he said, "I've lived here for nearly two years, Tokio. The men here do not wait for family approval and they do not play games of flirtation. They take what they want."

Tokio sent him a doubtful glance. "You would like Sou's permission to flirt with me?"

"I'm not interested in _you_," he bit off, "I am concerned for your safety. Imagine what your brother would do should something happen. Your mother, your sisters."

She sighed, biting her lip. She was _fine_. She didn't need a guardian.

"You needn't be concerned, Tokio," he told her, standing and packing his work back into his bag. He wouldn't get any work done tonight. "I only intend to walk you to class and eat with you. You will come back here with me several days a week and I will assist you with your history work. It is an illusion."

She considered this for a moment. She did need a history tutor, and truth be told, having a strong handsome man walking her around campus _was_ an appealing thought.

"What if I want a real boyfriend?"

He smirked her way. "I will happily break up with you."

How reassuring.

"I won't come here on Tuesdays," she said firmly, "or Thursdays."

He nodded. That was fair.

"And I want to go on dates. If you plan on robbing me of my social life, you will give me your version in return. I want to see all the city, so you can be my guide. And... for the sake of all that is good Saitou-san, please do _not_ tell my brother."

He leaned up against the counter and smiled an amused sort of smile. Dates he could do. He was looking forward to them. It wasn't that he wanted to date _her_ per se, but when rumors spread that Saitou Hajime had a steady girl, his father might cut the puppet strings.

"Do you always keep so many secrets from your brother?"

"Somehow the suggestion that I date his best friend doesn't seem like an idea he would take to very well."

No, it wasn't, and Saitou was more than happy to keep mum on the illusion.

"I will alert him of my intentions to tutor you," he replied, "I doubt that he will see much of an issue with that."

"No," she agreed, "that'd be fine."

Saitou congratulated himself on the deal he had just made. Not only had he cut the stress of his mission in half, but he had got himself a girl, or at least the image of, and he felt a refreshing wave of freedom wash over him. He'd have to be careful, but if all went well, he would have bested his father at his own game.

When Okita came to retrieve his sister later that night, Saitou explained the events of the day, as well as his proposal to help Tokio with her studies. Okita was overjoyed that they had got on so well and wasted no time in agreeing that a tutor would help her greatly. When they parted, Saitou didn't even so much as bid her farewell.

Back in her dorm room, after having spent a few hours in the studio with Shousha, Tokio gave a warm greeting to her roommate, a pretty red haired and freckled girl named Stephanie, and pulled her laptop from her bag. If Saitou were to be her 'boyfriend', it was only fair she know a little bit about him. After all, he made it clear that he knew plenty about her.

She had discovered the name of his mother in casual conversation with Soushi, but had pretended to show little interest in the woman aside from her modeling career. Now, alone with no one questioning her motives, she typed _Saitou Yaso_ into the search engine.

Across the top of the search results were photos of the woman and Tokio clicked through them for a few minutes, but didn't learn much. Heading back to the list of links, her eyes widened and she clicked on the first one, leaning forward to read the scanned news article with a gaping jaw.

_**Saitou Yaso: Murdered! **_

_ Saitou Yaso was found dead in her penthouse suite Wednesday, July 8, from two bullet wounds in the chest. Police, ruling this an obvious homicide, report that no weapon was found and as there was no sign of forced entry, suggest that the perpetrator was a person close to Saitou. _

_ There has been talk, but no suspects have been officially detained. _

Tokio closed out of that tab and moved to the next. This one was from the archives of a celebrity gossip website, that had been long forgotten about.

_**Tuesday, July 14, 1998**_

_ Did Saitou Yuusuke murder his wife? This seems to be popular belief, according to the talk on the streets and in the papers. Though no evidence ties her ex-husband to her death, Yaso's fans are deeply upset by these events and after such an __ugly divorce _(Tokio clicked that link with haste) _who else would have done it? We can all agree that..._

Switching over to the divorce, Tokio felt chills climbing up her spine. Saitou would have been eleven when his mother died. _Had_ his father killed her?

_**Yuusuke and Yaso SPLIT!**__ (November, 1997)_

_It's been a long time coming, dear readers, but one of our favourite faces of fashion is finally leaving her husband for bigger and better things. Yaso announced her separation from her husband on Halloween this year, and filed for divorce just this past Monday. Yuusuke has not yet spoken on the subject._

_**Saitou Yuusuke Seeing Red! **__(December, 1997)_

_ As if the split of the century wasn't dramatic enough, Saitou Yaso moved into the home of one of her many lovers (revealed in a rather heated battle) Sunday, leaving Yuusuke at home to tend to their ten year old son, Hajime. Yuusuke was said to have been drunk and spewing hateful threats at his ex-wife as she dropped the boy at his doorstep and disappeared._

_**A Battle for Custody: I don't want him! **__(January, 1998)_

_ Never in our lifetime have we seen a custody battle more intense than what is being displayed in the court room right now between Saitou Yuusuke and renowned fashion model, Saitou Yaso. This battle is not to claim custody of their son, Hajime (10), but to relinquish parental duties altogether. _

_ "We don't want him to be held in government custody," said Yaso on her way into the courthouse early Friday morning, "We want him to be happy, so one of us has to end up with him."_

_ When asked why then she didn't want to raise her own son, she replied with a laugh, "His father is a good cook and boys need good food to grow. I hate cooking."_

_ Yuusuke was significantly less coy about his reasons for not wanting Hajime under his roof, the most notable being, "I didn't really want kids anyway."_

Heart breaking, Tokio scrolled down and her eyes fell on a scanned photo of young Saitou, holding the hand of what appeared to be an equally young Fumiko. They weren't smiling in this photo; Saitou was looking down at his shoes, and Fumiko was holding up a fist at the photographers, trying to protect her friend in the way that a ten year old could.

_Hajime has been staying with his school friend, and when asked who he would rather live with, he shrugged, telling reporters, "I don't care who picks me. I just want to go home. The food at Fumiko's house is terrible. Especially the soba."_

Tokio closed out of all the tabs relating to the divorce and Yaso's murder. She felt for Saitou in a way that she wished she didn't know. How many times had Kojuro expressed his distaste for _her_, telling her over and over how he'd wish she'd never been born?

In the end, Saitou had ended up with his father. She didn't know how, but at this point, she didn't care. She understood a bit of him now, and it helped her to see why he was silent, brooding, and, she imagined, short tempered.

Closing her computer, she set her alarm for the morning. Her first class was at ten past nine, and she would be meeting him outside of her dorm building so he could walk her across campus and deposit her in _advanced trigonometry applications_.

Even if their relationship was fake, she was his girlfriend now, in title if nothing else, and the thought of it made her bite her lip as she tried to keep from beaming across the room. He was a funny sort of man, stern and business-like but perhaps through this facade she could melt him a little bit. Maybe she could be what Sou had been for her.

xxxx

**Author's Note**: This is another one of those 'packed with information' chapters so I kept it short.

**BONUS! **I found a nugget on my hard drive that I had actually forgotten about. I had been watching a lot of_ Baccano!_ (haven't seen it? Get on that!) and it inspired a scene (much darker than the actual series) that in turn inspired this fic.

Initially this was going to be an original fiction, but the more I thought on it, the more I saw Okita, so I opted for a fanfiction instead. All the other characters fell into place, things were changed, and people were made happy. Originally, this scene was going to be part of the ending of this story, but then I changed my mind, so don't get nervous. This won't actually happen, it was just how my brain conjures up stories.

xxxx

_ As a man who spilled blood for a living, there wasn't much that could shock him, but as he watched the bullet soar through the air, he felt his heart leave his chest. There was nothing he could do to stop it. There was no man fast enough, no aim true enough._

_ Though he had spent the better half of his life in the business of murder, he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. It wasn't because of his illness, or the mixture of sulfur and gasoline, but guilt. It was his fault that the trigger had been pulled._

_ They hadn't chosen each other, and though they had found themselves wanting, it was too late now. Maybe if he had been a better man, it would be different. Maybe he should have cut out of the game early, or better yet, disobeyed his parents' wishes in the matter of business._

_ He hadn't done either of those things, and he certainly knew that even repentance wouldn't do any good. He was paying for his sins now. He had been found out, they were taking their revenge, and he couldn't do anything but watch._

_ When the bullet embedded itself into its target's skull, his knees buckled, his own weapon slipped from his hands, and he hit the ground, palms splashing in the mixture of gasoline and blood. This warehouse was a graveyard tonight and as he raised his head to watch the victim fall, he found himself unable to breathe._

_ His wife was dead._

__A little peek at my inspiration. See you around! :) Tell me what you thought & think so far! I thrive on feedback~! :3


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